UC-NRLF 


B    3    327    Sib 


BERKELEY 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 


MAL    MOULEE. 


BY 

ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX, 

AUTHOR    OP 
"POEMS  OF  PASSION,"    "MAUHINE," 

ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW     YORK: 

COPYRIGHT,  1885,  BY 

G.  IV.  Carleton  &  Co.,  Pttblishers. 

LONDON  I     S.    LOW,    SON   &    CO. 
MDCCCLXXXVI. 


Stereotyped  by 

SAMUEL  STODDER, 
42  DEY  STREET,  N.  Y. 


HENRY  M.  TOBITT, 

PRINTER, 
42  DEY  STREET,  N.  Y. 


Girl 


PEEFACE. 


IT  is  more  than  two  years  since  the  outline  of 
this  simple  story  first  suggested  itself  to  me,  and 
since  the  first  chapters  were  written. 

Many  times  since  then,  conscious  that  I  pos 
sessed  no  talent  as  a  novelist,  I  have  resolved  to 
abandon  the  work.  Yet  an  unaccountable  and 
mysterious  impulse  (which  no  doubt  my  severe 
critics  will  declare  as  unfortunate,  as  unaccount 
able)  compelled  me  to  complete  it. 

I  have  attempted  no  fine  descriptions,  no  rare 
word-painting,  no  flights  of  eloquence.  These 
things  lie  not  within  my  province.  As  simply  and 
briefly  as  possible,  I  have  endeavored  to  relate  such 
events  as  occur  almost  daily  in  our  midst. 

In  Percy  Durand,  I  have  described,  and  possi- 

738 


8  PREFACE. 


bly,  somewhat  ideali.ied,  a  type  of  man  to  be  found 
in  any  of  the  cities  of  America. 

In  Dolores  King,  the  unfortunate  and  nndeslred 
offspring  of  a  loveless  marriage  fletrie  avant  sa 
naissance. 

In  Helena  Maxon,  my  ideal  of 

"The  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned 
To  counsel,  comfort  and  command." 

In  my  selection  of  a  title,  I  could  find  no  suit 
able  English  term  which  would  express  the  mean- 
in"-  I  wished  to  convey  in  unison  with  the  leading 

£?  •/  O 

idea  in  the  book.  Therefore,  I  was  obliged,  not 
without  reluctance,  to  use  a  French  term. 

To  avoid  many  personal  inquiries,  I  would 
say,  in  the  beginning,  that  while  I  have  known 
nearly  all  the  experiences  herein  related  to  occur, 
in  actual  life,  I  do  not,  at  the  present  time,  know 
of  any  person  or  persons  who  answer  to  the  char 
acters  I  have  created. 

ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX. 
Meriden,  Ct.,  December,  1885. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  page 

I.  Two  Girls H 

II.  Two  Girls  and  a  Doll 21 

III.  A  Fatal  Impress 32 

IV.  A  Startling  Valedictory 41 

V.  A  Young  Cynic 69 

VI.  A  Mother's  view  of  "  Women's  Rights."  .  .  72 

VII.  The  Lovely  Cynic  meets  her  Fate 81 

VIII.  Sweet  Danger 93 

IX.  Journalistic  Discussions 103 

X.  A  Discourse  on  Suicide 118 

XI.  A  Freak  of  Fate 132 

XII.  An  Exciting  Ice-boat  Adventure 142 


10  CONTENTS. 


Chapter  Page 

XIII.  A  Star  Falls 156 

XIV.  One  Man  and  One  Woman 169 

XV.     Sudden  Flight 182 

XVI.     A  Man  nnd  Two  Women 190 

XVII.     A  Man,  a  Woman,  and  Spirits 208 

XVIII.     Apples  of  Sodom 220 

XIX.     A  Story  and  a  Revelation   231 

XX.     The  Harvest  of  Tares 245 

XXL     A  Strange  Marriage 259 

XXII.     Dead  in  her  Bed 2^4 

XXIII.  Bitter  Sweet..                                               .  287 


MAL     MOULEE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

TWO     GIRLS. 

ELENA  MAXON  stood  at  the  win 
dow  which  looked  out  on  the  ten 
nis  court,  weeping  softly,  when 
her  mother's  arm  encircled  her, 
and  her  mother's  voice,  tremulous  with  tears 
unshed,  addressed  her. 

"Lena,  darling,"  she  said,  "you  must 
control  yourself.  Madame  Scranton  will 
return  in  a  moment,  with  the  young  lady 
who  is  to  be  your  roommate  and  companion, 
during  the  next  year.  She  is  a  lovely  and 
charming  girl ;  and  I  do  not  want  my  own 


10  TWO     GIRLS. 


sweet  darling's  face  to  be  utterly  disfigured 
by  weeping  when  her  new  friend  first  be 
holds  it.  1  am  certain,  my  dear  daughter, 
that  you  will  be  very  happy  here,  and 
perfectly  content  after  the  first  loneliness 
wears  away." 

"I  can  never  be  happy  and  contented 
away  from  you  and  Papa  1"  cried  the  young- 
lady  pa— ionately.  "I  should  feel  like  a 
wicked,  cruel  hearted  creature,  if  I  became 
contented  and  happy  when  separated  from 
you.  I  know  I  shall  die  of  home-sickness 
before  I  have  been  here  one  term."  and  her 
tears  dripped  anew. 

Mrs.  Maxon  choked  down  a  lump  in  her 
own  throat,  and  forced  a  smile  to  her  lips. 

"  You  will,  I  know,  try  to  be  happy 
dear,"  she  continued,  '"  when  you  realize  that 
the  happiness  of  your  parents  depends  upon 
your  own.  We  have  selected  this  academy 

he  most  desirable  institution  in  which 
place  you.  and  Madame  Scranton  is  a  lady-iu 
every  way  suited  to  guide  and  direct  a  young 
girl's  mind.  It  will  be  very  hard  for  us  to 
live  without  you,  but  we  know  it  is  for  your 
good,  and  you  will  one  day  thank  us  for  it. 


TWO     GIRLS,  13 


Here  comes  Madame,  and  the  young  lady  ; 
dry  your  eyes,  dear  child,  and  greet  her  pleas 
antly. "  And  while  Lena  was  bravely  striv 
ing  to  stem  the  up  ward- welling  tide  of  tears 
with  a  very  moist  bit  of  cambric,  she  heard 
Madame's  deep  contralto  voice  following  her 
mother's  tremulous  soprano  tones  : 

"  Miss  Maxon.  let  me  present  your  future 
companion  and  I  trust,  friend.  Miss  Dolores 
King — Miss  Helena  Maxou/' 

As  the  two  girls  looked  in  each  other's 
eyes  and  clasped  hands,  no  faintest  premo 
nition  came  to  either  young  heart  of  the 
strange  and  tragic  destiny  which  was  to  link 
their  future  lives. 

Helena's  first  thought  was.  "What  a 
beautiful  creature — a  perfect  Aphrodite/' 
While  Miss  King  was  saying  to  herself, 
'•Rather  a  nice  little  body — and  almost 
pretty  if  she  had  not  disfigured  herself  by 
cryi 

An  artist  might  have  found  the  two  girls 
a  fine  study  for  opposite  effects. 

Miss  King  was  nearly  twenty  :  tall,  and 
so  slight  as  to  seem  almost  fragile.  Her  face 
was  exquisitely  beautiful  in  contour,  quite 


14  TWO     GIRLS. 


classic  iii  its  perfectly-chiseled  features,  and 
interesting  from  its  mingled  expression  of 
pride  and  melancholy.  In  color  her  hair 
vras  a  pure,  pale  shade  of  yellow,  like  the 
under  side  of  a  canary  bird's  wing ;  her 
skin  that  firm,  yet  delicate  white,  of  the 
calla  lily  blossom.  Her  long  heavily -fringed 
eyes  were  as  darkly  blue  as  the  heart  of  a 
violet — the  flower  she  best  loved.  A  rare, 
wonderful  face,  a  face  that  might  become  a 
priceless  fortune  or  a  blighting  curse  to  its 
possessor. 

Helena  Maxon  was  full  half  a  head  below 
her  new  friend  in  stature,  and  though  three 
years  her  junior,  her  figure  was  much  more 
voluptuously  developed.  A  round  face,  a 
clear  brunette  complexion,  a  coil  of  dark 
hair  that  exactly  matched  the  color  of  her 
eyes — eyes  peculiar,  from  the  fact  that  at 
times  they  seemed  veiled  with  a  delicate 
film,  which  gave  the  appearance  of  one  in  a 
trance  or  somnambulic  state — a  nose  which 
no  phrenologist  could  classify,  which  we 
must  therefore  call  irregular  (and  which  was 
just  now  swollen  and  reddened  with  much 
weeping),  lips  too  full  for  beauty,  yet  a 


TWO     GIRLS.  15 


mouth  so  luscious  in  bloom,  and  so  sweet  in 
expression,  that  the  beholder  instantly  for 
gave  it  for  being  large.  This  comprises  a 
fair  pen  picture  of  Helena  Maxon,  on  that 
September  afternoon  as  she  stoxl  in  the 
stiff  and  orderly  reception  room  of  Madame 
Scrant  on's  Select  Academy  for  young  ladies. 

"  Miss  King  will  show  Miss  Maxon  to  her 
apartments,"  said  Madame,  after  two  girls 
had  exchanged  greetings.  "We  will  join 
you  there,  presently."  Then,  turning  to 
Mrs.  Maxon  as  soon  as  the  young  ladies  had 
left  the  room,  she  continued  :  "I  wish  to  as 
sure  you,  my  dear  madame,  that  your  daugh 
ter  could  not  have  a  more  desirable  compan 
ion,  in  this  her  first  absence  from  you,  than 
the  young  person  you  have  just  seen.  Miss 
King  is  quite  a  rare  character  ;  I  consider 
her  the  most  reliable  pupil  in  my  charge.  I 
have  never  known  her  to  disobey  a  rule  dur 
ing  the  three  years  she  has  been  with  me.  I 
regret  that  she  remains  only  another  year." 

"  She  is  very  beautiful,"  Mrs.  Maxon 
said,  musingly;  "but  her  face  impresses  me 
as  a  sad  one." 

"  Her  nature  is  tinged  with  a  seriousness 


16  TWO     GIRLS. 


which  is  almost  melancholy,"  Madame 
replied.  u  Her  mother  died  when  she  was 
but  a  few  months  old  :  her  father  married  a 
second  time,  and  unhappily,  I  believe  :  at  all 
events,  Dolores  has  made  her  home  with  an 
uncle— a  peculiar  and  austere  man  ;  he  has 
given  her  every  advantage,  as  he  is  a  man  of 
wealth,  but  she  seems  prematurely  grave 
and  serious-minded,  from  her  association 
with  him.  She  is  very  thoughtful,  and  of 
marked  originality,  and  absolutely  devoid  of 
the  vanity  one  might  naturally  expect  so 
beautiful  a  girl  to  possess.  She  is  wholly 
indifferent  to  admiration,  and  seems  to  have 
none  of  the  sentimental  weaknesses  of 
youth.  I  am  sure  she  can  only  be  an  advan 
tage  and  benefit  to  your  daughter.  She  is, 
too,  a  member  of  an  Orthodox  church  in 
good  standing." 

.  "I  am  pleased  with  what  you  tell  me  of 
this  young  lady,"  Mrs.  Max  on  replied.  4'  I 
fully  realize  the  great  dangers  to  which  par 
ents  expose  their  daughters  in  sending  them 
from  home  to  boarding-schools  :  it  requires 
the  utmost  care  and  surveillance,  to  sur 
round  them  with  the  right  influences.  The 


TWO     GIRLS.  17 


choice  of  instructors  and  companions  for  a 
daughter  at  this  critical  period  of  her  exist 
ence,  is  a  matter  of  vital  importance  ;  and 
one  not  sufficiently  considered.  Many  a 
young  girl's  mind  has  been  poisoned,  and  her 
future  warped  by  injudicious  companionship 
at  boarding-school.  Too  often  the  most 
careful  instructors  are  utterly  ignorant  of 
their  pupil's  thoughts  and  conversation  out 
side  the  class,  room." 

"  Quite  true  :  too  true,"  Madame  Scran- 
ton  assented.  ' '  But  I  endeavor  as  much  as 
possible  to  render  myself  the  confidant  of  my 
pupils  :  to  lead  them  to  talk  to  me  on  all 
subjects  as  they  would  talk  with  their 
mothers.  Having  a  limited  number  of 
young  ladies  in  my  charge,  this  is  possible 
for  me,  while  it  could  not  be  successfully 
done  in  a  larger  establishment." 

"  And  that  is  the  reason  why  Mr.  Maxon. 
and  myself  decided  upon  bringing  Helena  to 
you."  Mrs.  Maxon  continued.  "  We  were 
convinced  that  you  would  exercise  a  wise 
supervision  over  her  character  and  conduct. 
She  is  of  a  strongly  affectionate  and  emo 
tional  nature,  full  of  love  for  humanity,  and 


1 8  TWO     GIRLS. 


belief  in  her  fellow  beings.  I  do  not  want 
her  affections  chilled,  nor  her  confidence 
checked  by  worldly  counsels,  or  a  premature 
knowledge  of  the  baseness  which  exists  in 
the  world  :  let  her  keep  her  beautiful  faith 
and  loving  impulses  while  she  may.  Only 
guard  her  from  being  led  into  folly  or  im 
prudence.  As  I  grow  older  I  am  more  and 
more  convinced  that  the  people  who  con 
stantly  strive  to  impress  the  mind  of  the 
young  with  distrust  for  humanity  are  the 
people  who  are  themselves  unworthy  of 
trust :  or  else  those  who  have  become  embit 
tered  by  sorrows  they  have  not  understood. 
I  believe  it  possible  to  keep  a  natu*e  like 
Lena's  sweet  and  wholesome  forever." 

"  But  there  are  infinite  disappointments 
and  bitter  experiences  in  store  for  a  nature 
such  as  you  describe,"  Madame  suggested. 
"  That  beautiful  trust  must  be  rudely 
shattered." 

' 'Shocked,  but  not  shattered  ;"  corrected 
Mrs.  Maxon.  "  And  I  think  it  better  in  this 
life  to  be  often  wounded  through  too  great 
faith  in  our  fellow-beings  than  to  embitter 
our  minds  with  an  early  distrust. 


TWO     GIRLS.  19 


"I  have  tried  to  impress  her  with  the 
belief,  that  whatever  pain  is  sent  to  her, 
comes  as  an  ennobling  and  purifying  lesson  ; 
not  as  a  punishment.  I  want  her  to  think 
of  her  Creator  as  a  Benefactor  ;  not  as  an 
Avenger.  Her  heart  is  free  now,  from  all 
envious  or  jealous  emotions,  as  a  carefully 
tended  flower-bed  is  free  from  weeds.  But 
she  has  never  been  exposed  to  the  constant 
friction  of  association  with  her  own  sex  : 
and  I  tremble  when  I  think  what  emotions 
evil  influences  may  implant  in  that  fresh 
soil. 

"I  want  you  to  teach  her,  as  I  have 
done,  that  envy  is  a  vice,  and  jealousy  and 
unkind  criticism  are  immoralities,  certain  to 
destroy  the  noblest  character.  We  warn  our 
sons  from  the  gaming-table  and  the  wine- 
cup,  with  loud  voices  ;  but  too  many  of  us 
sit  silent  while  our  daughters  contract  habits 
of  malicious  speaking  and  envious  criticism, 
which  are  quite  as  great  evils  in  society 
to-day,  as  intemperance  or  gambling. 

"You  will  forgive  my  lengthy  disserta 
tion,  my  dear  Madame,  when  you  remember 
how  precious  the  trust  placed  in  your  care. 


20  TWO     GIRLS. 


And  now  I  must  bid  her  a  last  farewell  and 
take  my  departure.  Poor  child  !  she  has 
never  been  separated  from  me  a  week  in  her 
life.  The  parting  will  be  very  hard  for  both 
of  us." 

"  Remember,  my  sweet  child,"  was  Mrs. 
Maxon's  last  injunctions  to  her  weeping 
daughter,  "  that  you  are  always  to  make  me 
your  first  confidant  in  all  things.  Hear 
nothing,  say  nothing,  do  nothing,  which 
you  cannot  tell  your  mother,  who  will  ever 
strive  to  be  your  best  adviser.  And  now, 
God's  angels  guard  you,  dear,  and  good-by." 

And  Mrs.  Maxon  turned  hastily  from  the 
clinging  arms  of  her  daughter,  and  hurried 
away,  while  Helena  threw  herself  upon  the 
couch  in  a  wild  passion  of  uncontrolled 
tears. 


TWO    GIRLS    AND    A    DOLL.  21 


CHAPTER  II. 

TWO   GIRLS   AND  A  DOLL, 

HEN  Dolores  rapped  softly  at  the 
door  an  hour  later,  she  was  bidden 
to  enter  by  a  low  but  calm  voice  ; 
and  she  found  Helena  busy  in 
unpacking  her  trunks,  and  arranging  her 
wardrobe  in  closets,  drawers  and  boxes. 

"You  look  tired,  Miss  Maxon,"  she  said 
kindly-— "  or  rather,  Miss  Lena,  for  we  must 
not  be  formal  if  we  are  to  be  room-mates, 
must  we  ?  so  let  us  begin  with  Lena  and 
Dolores  from  the  first." 

"Dolores,"  repeated  Helena,  softly; 
"  Dolores — it  is  a  lovely  name,  but  I  never 
heard  it  before." 

"No,  it  is  not  a  common  name.  It 
means  sorrowful,  I  believe  ;  my  mother 
named  me  well.  And  now,  may  I  not  assist 
you  in  your  unpacking  ?  Let  me  hang  up 


TWO     GIRLS    AND     A     DOLL. 


your  dresses — the  hooks  are  so  high,  and  I 
am  taller  than  you." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  you  are  very  kind,  and 
I  am  tired.  It  always  makes  me  tired  and 
ill  to  cry,  and  I  look  so  like  a  fright,  too. 
I  wish  I  might  be  improved  by  tears,  like 
the  heroines  in  novels  we  read  about  ;  but  I 
am  not  so  fortunate  as  they." 

"  Have  you  read  many  novels  ?"  asked 
Dolores,  as  she  hung  up  a  neat  blue  walking 
suit,  secretly  wondering  if  that  color  could 
be  becoming  to  her  dusky  companion. 

i  l  Oh,  no,  not  many.  Mamma  thinks  I 
am  too  young  to  read  the  best  novels  under- 
standingly,  and  she  does  not  like  to  have  me 
read  anything  for  just  the  story  of  it.  I 
have  read  all  of  Mrs.  Whitney's  books  ; 
they  are  the  sweetest  stories  in  the  world  for 
girls  to  read,  mamma  says,  and  I  think  so, 
too.  They  always  make  me  feel  braver  and 
better,  and  more  contented.  I  have  read 
two  or  three  books  that  made  me  discon 
tented  ;  the  heroines  were  so  wonderfully 
gifted  and  so  gloriously  beautiful  that  I 
fairly  hated  my  poor  self  for  days  after  read 
ing  about  them." 


TWO    GIRLS    AND     A     DOLL.  23 

Dolores  smiled. 

"  That  is  very  odd,"  she  said,  "  I  do  not 
remember  to  ever  have  been  affected  in 
that  way  by  a  book." 

Helena  cast  an  admiring  glance  upon  her 
companion. 

"Well,  I  should  not  suppose  you  would 
be  ?"  she  responded,  "because  you  are  more 
beautiful  than  any  heroine  I  ever  read 
about,  and  that  makes  all  the  difference  in 
the  world,  you  know." 

Dolores  let  a  whole  arm  full  of  mantles 
and  dresses  fall  in  a  heap  upon  the  floor,  as 
she  turned  and  stared  at  the  speaker. 

"Are  you  making  sport  of  me?"  she 
asked,  bluntly. 

"  I,  making  sport  of  you  ?  Why,  I  would 
not  be  so  rude,"  cried  Helena,  the  tears 
starting  to  her  eyes  again.  "Perhaps  I 
ought  not  to  have  spoken  so  plainly — may 
be  you  think  '  praise  to  the  face  is  an  open 
disgrace  ;'  but  I  do  not  believe  that.  If  I 
like  any  thing  or  any  body,  I  can  not  help 
saying  so ;  and  I  thought  you  must  know 
how  very  beautiful  you  are,  and  I  spoke  of 
it  just  as  I  would  speak  of  the  beauty  of  a 


24  TWO    GIRLS    AND    A    DOLL. 


flower  or  a  picture.  I  am  sorry  if  I  have 
annoyed  you." 

Dolores  picked  up  the  scattered  garments 
and  began  to  arrange  them  in  order. 

"Well,  you  are  the  oddest  girl  I  ever 
met,"  she  said.  "  But  you  have  not  annoyed 
me  ;  I  am  sure  it  is  very  sweet  of  you  to  say 
such  pretty  things  to  me ;  only  I  never 
knew  any  girl  who  talked  like  that  before  : 
girls  are  usually  so  hateful,  you  know." 

"  Are  they?"  and  there  was  real  grief  in 
Helena's  voice.  "  Oh,  I  don't  like  to  believe 
that  is  true." 

"But  have  not  you  found  them  so  ?" 

"No;  but  you  see  I  have  known  very  few 
girls.  I  have  lived  very  quietly  at  home, 
and  I  never  even  staid  all  night  with  a  girl 
in  my  life — mamma  never  liked  to  have 
me.  No  doubt  I  have  a  great  deal  to  learn, 
but  I  always  longed  for  a  sister,  and  I 
thought  girls  were  very  nice  indeed." 

"I  suppose  some  of  them  are,"  Dolores 
admitted,  "but  I  never  cared  much  for 
their  society  myself  ;  as  a  rule  they  only 
think  and  talk  about  beaus,  and  marriage, 
and  silly  gossip  which  does  not  interest  me. 


TWO    GIRLS    AND    A    DOLL.  25 

But  I'm  sure  you  are  quite  different,  and  we 
shall  get  along  nicely  together.  For  pity's 
sake,  what  is  that  !" 

This  last  exclamatory  query  was  uttered 
just  as  Helena  unfolded  numerous  wrap 
pings  from  a  large  inanimate  object,  which 
very  much  resembled  a  sleeping  infant  sev 
eral  months  old.  Helena's  olive  cheek 
glowed  with  a  sudden  flush  like  the  rosy  side 
of  a  ripe  peach.  She  bent  low  over  the 
object,  which  was  now  quite  free  from  its 
protecting  wraps,  as  she  answered,  "  I 
suppose  you  will  think  me  terribly  silly; 
mamma  said  she  was  afraid  the  girls  would 
make  sport  of  me,  if  I  brought  it  with  me, 
but  when  I  came  away  I  found  I  just  could 
not  leave  my  dear  dolly  at  home.  Papa  gave 
it  to  me  three  years  ago  Christmas,  and  I 
think  it  is  the  loveliest  creature  I  ever  saw 
in  the  shape  of  a  doll.  I  have  been  so  fond  of 
her,  and  I  have  always  had  her  in  my  room 
at  night  ;  and  it  broke  my  heart  to  think  of 
leaving  her  behind  me.  So  at  last  mamma 
said  I  might  bring  her.  I  shall  keep  her  in 
the  bottom  drawer  of  the  dresser,  and  no 
one  but  you  need  know  she  is  here.  I  don't 
2 


26  TWO    GIRLS    AND    A    DOLL. 

want  the  whole  school  laughing  at  me  ;  but 
I  know  I  shall  be  a  great  deal  happier 
because  she  is  with  me.  Did  you  feel  badly 
wrhen  you  had  to  give  up  your  dolls  ?" 

"I  never  played  with  a  doll  in  all  my 
life,"  Dolores  answered,  "I  always  knew 
they  were  only  dolls." 

i  'Yes,  of  course  real  babies  are  nicer,  but 
they  cry  so— and  one  has  to  be  so  care 
ful—" 

"  Eeal  babies  !"  echoed  Dolores,  in  undis 
guised  contempt,  "I  am  sure  I  never  want 
to  play  with  those  miserable  little  beings.  I 
never  know  what  to  do  with  them." 

"  Don't  you  love  babies  ?  the  sweet  inno 
cent  little  creatures,"  cried  Helena,  clasping 
her  arms  over  an  imaginary  infant,  and 
cuddling  it  to  her  breast  with  true  mother- 
tenderness.  "Oh,  I  think  they  are  the 
loveliest,  dearest  little  things  in  the  world. 
How  can  you  dislike  them  ?" 

"I  don't  really  dislike  them,"  Dolores 
replied;  "I  only  pity  them.  Nobody  ever 
asks  them  whether  or  not  they  wish  to  come 
into  this  world  of  trouble — nobody  ever 
wants  them,  and  every  body  tires  of  their 


TWO     GIRLS     AND     A     DOLL.  27 


plaintive  protest  against  life.     Yes,  indeed,  I 
pity  the  poor  things." 

4  k  Oh,  but  I  am  sure  some  babies  are 
wanted/'  Helena  interposed.  "  A  little 
brother  came  to  me  three  years  ago,  and  we 
were  all  so  glad  and  happy,  as  if  an  angel 
had  been  sent  to  us.  And  it  was  an  angel," 
she  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  for  it  was  called 
back  to  heaven  in  a  few  months,  and  we 
were  left  so  very,  very  lonely.  But  we  were 
glad  it  came  even  for  that  brief  time.  It 
made  us  all  better,  I  know.  Have  you  any 
brother  or  sisters,  Dolores  f ' 

"No,"  Dolores  answered,  "my  mother 
died  when  I  was  six  months  old." 

"Oh. "said  Helena,  very  softly,  "'then 
you  are  an  orphan  ?  I  think  that  is  the  sad 
dest  thing  in  the  world — to  have  no  father 
and  mother  on  earth." 

"  My  father  is  living — but  he  has  another 
wife,  and  I  never  see  him,"  Dolores  ex 
plained,  "and  I  feel  that  I  am  an  orphan. 
I  live  with  my  mother's  brother — my  Uncle 
Laurence,  when  I  am  at  home.  But  I  think 
we  ought  to  retire  early  to  night,  Miss  Lena 


28  TWO    GIRLS    AND     A     DOLL. 


—you  look  very  tired  ;  this  has  been  a  hard 
day  for  you." 

As  they  disrobed  together,  Helena's  ad 
miration  for  her  companion's  beauty  broke 
forth  again. 

''  You  have  the  loveliest  hair  I  ever  saw," 
she  said.  "  How  I  would  love  to  see  a  pic 
ture  of  you  with  it  flowing  about  your 
shoulders  like  that." 

As  malice  creates  malice,  so  generosity 
awakens  generosity.  Dolores,  who  was  usu 
ally  quite  too  indifferent  to  individuals  to 
particularly  notice,  much  less  mention  their 
pleasing  traits,  now  smilingly  replied  to 
Helena's  eulogy  : 

k ;  And  I  would  like  a  picture  of  your 
beautiful  neck  and  shoulders  ;  you  have  the 
form  of  a  young  goddess,  my  dear." 

fi  Have  I  ?"  cried  Helena  with  childish 
delight,  "  why,  I  am  sure  no  one  ever  said  so 
before— only  Papa  told  me  there  was  a  clas 
sic  slope  to  my  shoulders — I  always  remem 
bered  that  compliment — as  I  shall  yours.  I 
just  worship  beauty,  and  I  am  so  grateful  to 
heaven  for  the  least  little  spark  of  prettiness 
it  has  given  me,  and  I  try  to  make  the  most 


TWO     GIRLS     AND     A    DOLL.  29 


of  myself  in  every  way.  I  think  the  Creator 
meant  all  women  to  be  lovely  ;  Eve  was 
beautiful,  I  am  sure  ;  and  it  is  only  by  dis 
obeying  the  laws  of  health,  and  not  think 
ing  the  right  thoughts  that  her  descendants 
have  grown  deformed  and  unattractive. 
That  is  what  Mamma  thinks,  and  I  believe 
it  is  true  too." 

''Are  you  quite  ready  to  retire,"  asked 
Dolores,  as  she  saw  Helena  let  down  her 
brown  hair  over  her  snowy  night-dress.  "  If 
so,  I  will  put  out  the  light. " 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  laughed  Helena,  "you 
have  no  idea  how  long  a  time  I  require  at 
my  toilet  night  and  morning.  You  know 
I  told  you  I  tried  to  make  the  most  of 
myself  every  way.  Now  nature  did  not 
give  me  much  beauty  to  begin  with,  but 
Mamma  says  I  can  greatly  improve  on  what 
was  given  me.  My  hair  is  not  very  fine  or 
soft,  so  I  give  it  a  hundred  strokes  of  the 
brush  every  night,  and  fifty  every  morning. 
Then  I  take  ever  so  much  pains  with  my 
teeth  and  nails — for  they  are  very  obvious 
features,  you  know,  and  my  nails  are  inclined 
to  be  ugiy — not  naturally  long  and  shapely 


30  TWO     GIRLS     AND     A     DOLL. 

like  yours.  And  I  am  so  fond  of  bathing, 
that  Mamma  says  she  ought  to  keep  me  in 
an  aquarium  with  the  gold  fish." 

' '  But  you  will  find  it  very  difficult  to  get 
time  for  so  many  elaborate  ceremonies  here 
at  school,"  said  Dolores. 

"Well,  then  I  shall  fall  behind  in  my 
classes,  I  fear,"  answered  Helena  as  she 
stroked  her  hair  till  it  glistened  like  the  coat 
of  a  finely-groomed  horse.  "I  look  on  my 
body  as  the  temple  of  my  soul,  and  I  feel  as 
if  I  was  showing  respect  to  God  by  taking 
every  delicate  and  beautiful  care  of  it  that  is 
possible.  I  do  not  care  for  fine  clothes  so 
much  as  some  girls  do,  but  I  love  to  beautify 
and  purify  myself — the  body  that  God 
made — and  dedicate  it  anew  to  his  service 
each  day  and  night.  What  other  girls  spend 
in  sweetmeats  and  candies,  I  use  to  buy 
delicate  perfumes,  and  soaps,  and  dainty 
brushes  and  appliances  for  my  toilet  and 
bath.  I  fact,  I  suppose  I  am  a  born  old 
maid.  There  now — you  can  put  out  the 
light,  and  hereafter  I  will  take  that  task 
upon  myself  and  not  keep  you  waiting. " 
And  then  she  dropped  on  her  knees  by 


TWO    GIRLS    AND    A    DOLL.  31 


the  snowy  couch  in  the  moonlight,  and 
offered  up  her  simple  silent  prayer  of  peti 
tion  and  gratitude. 

"A  nice  sweet  girl,"  thought  Dolores  as 
she  lay  and  watched  the  kneeling  figure. 
"  I  think  I  shall  quite  enjoy  her  society." 

And  she  did  not  dream  that  in  the  merci 
fully  veiled  future  circumstances  should 
transpire,  which  would  cause  her  to  feel  for 
that  same  girlish  figure  kneeling  at  her  bed 
side,  all  the  bitter  hatred,  all  the  passionate 
fury,  all  the  jealous  vengeance  of  which  the 
human  heart  is  capable  when  in  the  grasp 
of  an  immortal  sorrow  and  a  great  despair. 


32  A    FATAL    IMPRESS. 


CHAPTER  III. 
A     FATAL      IMPRESS. 

LMOST  six  months  had  flown,  and 
the  spring  vacation  was  close  at 
hand. 

Helena's  homesickness  had  given 
place  to  quiet  content ;  and  a  keen  pleasure 
in  her  new  duties  was  fast  taking  possession 
of  her,  which  Madame  Scranton  noticed 
with  satisfaction,  and  reported  to  Mrs. 
Maxon. 

"  I  dread  vacation  week,"  she  said  to  her 
room-mate,  one  evening  as  they  sat  over 
their  examination  papers.  i  i  I  was  so  lonely 
during  the  holidays  while  you  were  gone — I 
cried  myself  to  sleep  every  night,  and  it  will 
be  just  as  hard  this  vacation.  It  seems  a 
long  time  until  next  June,  but  I  know  my 
parents  do  not  feel  like  affording  the  expense 
of  my  journey  home  before  then." 

"I  wish  you  might  go  home  with  me,," 


A     FATAL     IMPRESS.  38 

suggested  Dolores,  looking  up  suddenly 
from  her  books.  "  Can't  you  ?  it  is  only  a 
short  distance — and  I  would  gladly  take 
you  myself.  It  is  rather  a  gloomy  house, 
you  will  find,  with  just  uncle  and  his  books, 
and  servants,  but  it  would  be  a  change  for 
you  at  least.  I  know  how  dreary  it  is  here 
in  vacation  ;  I  tried  it  once,  when  uncle  was 
away  from  home.  Will  you  go  with  me, 
Lena  ?" 

"You  are  so  kind  to  ask  me.  and  I  think 
it  would  be  delightful,"  Helena  answered, 
her  face  beaming  at  the  thought.  "  I  will 
write  to  Mamma  about  it  to-night.  I  am 
sure  she  will  give  her  consent,  for  I  have  told 
her  so  much  about  you — how  good  arid  kind 
you  are,  and  how  fond  I  am  of  you  ;"  and 
Helena  drew  her  companion's  face  down 
with  both  hands  and  kissed  her.  Dolores 
received  the  salutation  with  a  smile,  but  did 
not  return  it. 

"Do  you  know,  Dolores,"  said  Helena, 
"that  little  smile  of  yours  means  just  the 
same  to  me  now,  as  a  kiss  ?  At  first,  when  I 
used  to  caress  you,  your  lack  of  responses 
chilled  me  ;  yet  I  was  so  fond  of  you,  and 


34  A     FATAL    IMPRESS. 

you  are  so  lovely,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
demonstrations  of  affection.  I  must  have 
some  one  to  pet ;  it  is  a  necessity  with  me  ; 
and  now  that  faint  little  smile  you  give  me, 
seems  just  the  same  as  a  kiss  would  seem 
from  any  other  girl." 

"  I  am  glad  it  does — it  means  the  same," 
Dolores  replied.  "  I  am  very  undemonstra 
tive  by  nature.  You  are  positively  the  only 
person,  Lena,  by  whom  I  could  endure  to  be 
caressed.  I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever 
voluntarily  kissed  any  one  in  my  life.  I 
could  never  see  any  meaning  or  sense  in  it ; 
but  it  seems  all  right  coming  from  you. 
Only  I  am  glad  you  do  not  demand  a  res 
ponse  from  me." 

"  But  surely  you  kiss  your  uncle  some 
times  ?"  Helena  queried. 

"  No,  never.  His  nature  and  mine  are 
similar  in  that  respect.  You  will  think  him 
cold,  and  severe,  but  he  has  had  some  bitter 
sorrows  in  his  life,  and  it  is  no  wonder  if 
they  have  frozen  his  heart's  blood.  Yet  he 
is  very  kind  to  me,  and  he  has  taught  me 
much,  and  told  me  many  things,  which  I 
might  otherwise  have  had  to  learn  as  he  did 


A  .FATAL    IMPRESS.  35 

— by  cruel  experience.  But  come,  dear,  we 
must  finish  our  examination  papers,  and 
you  must  write  that  letter  to  your  mother. 
I  think  I  will  enclose  a  note,  begging  her  to 
grant  me  the  favor  of  your  company,  and 
promising  to  take  the  best  of  care  of  you. " 

Both  letters  were  accordingly  written 
and  an  affirmative  reply  to  the  request  was 
received  by  the  delighted  girls  before  the 
school  term  closed. 

Helena  packed  her  trunk  with  all  a  young 
girl's  eager  anticipation  of  a  new  experience. 
Madame  Scranton  and  a  small  body-guard 
of  teachers  and  pupils  accompanied  the 
young  ladies  to  the  depot,  and  saw  them 
safely  seated  in  the  car  which  would,  in  a 
few  hours,  bring  them  to  their  destina 
tion. 

They  were  met  at  the  station  by  a  colored 
serving  man,  whom  Dolores  addressed  as 
Daniel,  and  who  informed  her  that  "Master 
Laurence  was  well  nigh  sick  :  did  not  seem 
to  have  no  appetite  and  couldn't  sleep. " 

"Why  was  I  not  written  to  ?  Why  was 
I  not  sent  for,  if  Uncle  is  ill  ? "  cried  Dolores, 
with  so  much  distress  in  her  face,  that 


36  A     FATAL    IMPRESS. 

Helena,  accustomed  to  the  usual  calm  of  her 
friends'  demeanor,  looked  upon  her  with 
surprise. 

Daniel's  assurance  that  his  master  was 
not  sick,  "only  ailin',"  did  not  remove  the 
cloud  from  Dolores'  face  until  they  reached 
the  mansion,  which  seemed  to  Helena,  filled 
with  a  "well-bred  gloom,"  as  she  after 
wards  expressed  it. 

As  a  garment  becomes  impregnated 
with  the  odors  of  the  body,  so  the  atmos 
phere  of  a  house  becomes  saturated  with 
the  essence  or  the  spiritual  nature  of  its 
inhabitants.  In  Helena  Maxon's  own  home, 
humble  and  modest  though  it  was,  who 
ever  crossed  its  threshold  felt  the  rush  of 
a  vitalized  current  of  love  and  good  cheer, 
like  a  soft  breeze  about  him. 

And  with  her  peculiarly  sensitive  nature 
she  felt,  like  a  finely  organized  human 
barometer,  the  cold  and  chilling  atmosphere 
of  this  mansion  :  and  her  spiritual  mercury 
ran  down  to  the  zeros. 

A  tall,  grave  man,  with  a  clear  cut,  beard 
less  face  and  steel  gray  eyes,  met  them  in 
the  hall,  "Welcome  home,  young  ladies," 


A    FATAL    IMPRESS.  37 

he  said,  while  the  phantom  of  a  smile  played 
over  his  pale  features,  as  a  winter  sunbeam 
falls  on  a  marble  statue.  "  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  both.  Dolores,  child,  you  look  pale  ; 
are  you  ill  ? " 

He  took  her  hand,  as  he  had  taken 
Helena's,  and  he  offered  110  more  affectionate 
greeting,  nor  did  Dolores. 

"  No — I  am  well,"  she  said,  "  only  Daniel 
frightened  me  :  he  said  you  were  very 
unwell.  You  should  have  sent  for  me, 
Uncle,  at  once. " 

"It  was  not  necessary,  child,"  replied  her 
uncle,  as  he  led  them  down  the  long  hall 
and  stood  aside  to  let  them  pass  up  the  broad 
stairway.  "  I  have  only  been  indisposed,  as 
I  always  am  in  the  Spring,  you  know. 
Why  should  I  take  you  from  your  studies 
because  my  liver  is  refractory  ?  But  hasten, 
now,  young  ladies.  You  have  only  time  to 
make  your  toilet  before  dinner  is  served." 

"I  heard  two  robins  chirping  in  a  bare 
tree  this  morning,"  Mr.  Laurence  said,  as  the 
young  ladies  took  their  places  at  the  table  a 
little  later.  ' '  That  and  your  youthful  voices 
in  the  lonely  old  hall  just  now,  convinced 


38  A     FATAL     IMPRESS. 

me  of  the  near  approach  of  Springtime. 
Happy  birds,  and  happy  girls,  I  said.  I 
wonder  what  the  brief  summer  of  life  holds 
for  you  ? 

"  What  is  your  dream  of  the  future,  Miss 
Maxon  ? " 

Finding  this  perplexing  question  ad 
dressed  to  her  so  suddenly,  by  an  utter 
stranger,  whose  demeanor  gave  her  a  pecul 
iar  sensation  of  awe,  Helena  blushed,  and 
hesitated  for  a  reply. 

"I  think  I  can  answer  for  you,"  contin 
ued  her  host,  without  waiting  for  her  to  find 
voice. 

' i  It  is  a  dream  of  pleasant  duties,  of  cul 
ture  and  travel,  of  realized  ambitions  and 
labors  rewarded,  but  all  merging  in  the 
supreme  hope  of  the  unwise  young  heart- 
love  and  marriage  ;  am  I  not  right  ? " 

For  a  moment,  Helena  remained  in 
abashed  silence,  the  flush  deepening  upon 
her  cheek.  Then  she  lifted  her  soft  dark 
eyes  fearlessly  to  the  old  man's  face,  as  she 
answered  him  : 

"I  have  never  thought  very  seriously 
about  my  future,"  she  said.  "I  am  young 


A    FATAL     IMPRESS.  39 

to  make  plans.  But  whatever  else  it  holds 
for  me,  I  think  it  would  be  more  complete  at 
last  to  be  crowned  with  love  and  marriage, 
if  the  love  were  true  love  and  the  marriage- a 
happy  one." 

Mr.  Laurence  shook  his  head  as  he  mur 
mured:  "Ah  !  ah  !  poor  child — poor  foolish 
child  !  Better  give  up  this  thought  at  once. 
There  is  no  true  love  between  man  and 
woman  ;  there  are  no  happy  marriages  ;  it  is 
all  a  dream — a  dream — and  the  awakening  is 
cruel.  Better  put  it  all  out  of  your  mind 
now,  child,  before  it  is  too  late.  Build  your 
castle  without  the  frail  tower  of  love,  else  it 
will  topple  to  the  ground  and  carry  the 
whole  structure  with  it." 

"But  surely  you  would  not  have  me 
think  there  is  no  such  thing  as  true  love  in 
the  world  ? "  cried  Helena,  in  wondering  and 
pained  surprise. 

' c  There  is  no  true  and  enduring  love,  no 
grand  eternal  passion  between  the  sexes. 
There  is  a  possibility — yet  that  even  is  rare 
— of  a  lasting  platonic  affection — of  a  kind, 
unselfish  friendship.  But  it  is  a  mockery 
and  blasphemy  for  two  human  beings  to 


40  A    FATAL     IMPRESS. 


stand  at  the  altar  and  in  the  name  of  God 
bind  themselves  to  be  true  to  a  sentiment 
which  cannot  last — which  never  lasts.  One 
or  both  must  change,  both  must  suffer  from 
the  unholy  bondage.  Women  are  fickle,  and 
men  are  base.  I  would  rather  see  Dolores, 
my  only  human  tie,  laid  in  her  grave,  than 
led  to  the  marriage  altar.  No,  no,  child ; 
listen  to  an  old  man  who  has  seen  much  of 
the  world,  and  let  no  thought  of  marriage 
ever  enter  your  life  plans." 

Mr.  Laurence's  face  was  very  pale,  and 
his  voice  trembled  with  the  excitement 
which  this  subject  always  produced.  Dolo 
res  saw  that  he  was  in  a  highly  nervous 
state,  and  adroitly  changed  the  conversation 
by  requesting  Helena  to  come  into  the  music 
room  and  sing  for  them. 

She  possessed  a  voice  of  remarkable 
beauty  and  sweetness — a  voice  which  already 
was  beginning  to  develop  into  wonderful 
flexibility  and  power,  under  the  vocal  train 
ing  she  received  at  the  Academy. 

Like  most  of  Orpheus'  devotees,  Helena 
was  much  more  absorbed  in  the  music  than 
in  the  words  of  her  songs ;  and  so,  quite 


A    FATAL    IMPRESS.  41 

unconsciously  she  illustrated  the  old  man's 
theory  of  the  ephemeral  nature  of  love,  in  her 
selection  of  this  song,  which  was  set  to  a 
brilliant  air  and  accompaniment. 

A  little  leaf  just  in  the  forest's  edge, 
All  summer  long,  had  listened  to  the  wooing 
Of  amorous  birds  that  flew  across  the  hedge, 
Singing  their  blithe  sweet  songs  for  her  undoing. 
So  many  were  the  fluttering  things  they  told  her, 
The  parent  tree  seemed  quite  too  small  to  hold  her. 

At  last  one  lonesome  day  she  saw  them  fly 
Across  the  fields  behind  the  coquette  summer, 
They  passed  her  with  a  laughing  light  good-by, 
When  from  the  north,  there  strode  a  strange  new 

comer; 

Bold  was  his  mein,  as  he  gazed  on  her,  crying, 
"  How   comes   it,  then,  that   thou   art   left   here 

sighing  !" 

"  Now  by  my  faith  thou  art  a  lovely  leaf 

May  I  not  kiss  that  cheek  so  fair  and  tender  ?" 
Her  slighted  heart  welled  full  of  bitter  grief, 
The  rudeness  of  his  words  did  not  offend  her. 
She  felt  so  sad,  so  desolate,  so  deserted, 
Oh,  if  her  lonely  fate  might  be  averted. 


42  A    FATAL    IMPRESS. 

"One  little  kiss,"  he  sighed,  "  I  ask  no  more " 

His  face  was  cold,  his  lips  too  pale  for  passion. 
She  smiled  assent  ;   and   then  bold   Frost  leaned 

lower, 

And  clasped  her  close,  and  kissed  in  lover's  fashion. 
Her  smooth  cheek  flushed  to  sudden  guilty  splendor, 
Another  kiss,  and  then  complete  surrender. 

Just  for  a  day  she  was  a  beauteous  sight, 
The  world  looked  on  to  pity  and  admire 
This  modest  little  leaf,  that  in'a  night 
Had  seemed  to  set  the  forest  all  on  fire. 
And  then — this  victim  of  a  broken  trust 
A  withered  thing,  was  trodden  in  the  dust. 

Mr.  Laurence  sat  silent  as  if  buried  in 
deep  thought,  while  she  sang  a  few  songs, 
and  then,  excusing  himself  on  a  plea  of 
indisposition,  retired  to  his  room. 

"  It  is  useless  for  Uncle  to  tell  me  he  is 
not  ill,"  Dolores  remarked,  after  he  had  left 
them  alone,  i '  for  I  notice  a  great  change  in 
him  since  I  last  saw  him.  He  looks  years 
older,  and  he  is  in  a  state  of  great  nerv 
ousness.  I  am  alarmed  about  him." 

"  He  is  a  strange  man,  is  he  not  ?"  mused 
Helena,  "but  I  can  not  help  thinking  he 


A     FATAL     IMPRESS.  43 

would  be  happier  and  healthier  if  he  did  not 
live  alone.  If  he  had  married  when  young, 
and  was  now  surrounded  by  a  nice  family, 
how  different  all  his  ideas  would  be.  Papa 
says  a  bachelor's  blood  turns  to  vinegar 
because  he  has  no  one  to  sweeten  life  for 
him." 

"  But  Uncle  Laurence  is  not  a  bachelor," 
Dolores  said.  "  He  married  a  very  beautiful 
girl  when  he  was  quite  young." 

' i  Indeed  !  then  he  is  a  widower  ?  And  it 
was  the  loss  of  her,  that  made  him  so  bitter  ! 
But  I  think  it  is  lovely  that  he  has  been  true 
to  her  memory.  There  is  just  romance 
enough  about  it  to  please  me." 

"No,  no!"  interrupted  Dolores,  hastily, 
' '  you  do  not  understand.  He  married  her 
and  worshiped  her,  with  a  young,  man's  first 
poetic  passion ;  they  lived  together  two 
years,  arid  then — and  then,  Lena,  she  ran  off 
and  left  him,  and  he  has  never  been  the 
same  man  since." 

"  Ean  off  and  left  him  !"  echoed  Helena 
in  shocked  amazement,  "why,  was  she 
homesick — or  was  he  unkind  to  her  \  And 
did  her  parents  take  her  back  ?" 


44  A    FATAL     IMPRESS. 


1  'No,  she  did  not  go  home.  She  was — 
oh,  Lena  dear,  you  are  too  innocent  to  un 
derstand  how  wicked  the  world  is.  I  know 
all  about  it,  because  Uncle  has  told  me  ;  he 
thinks  it  better  for  me  to  be  forwarned  since 
I  may  be  left  alone  to  defend  myself.  Lena, 
his  wife  was  faithless,  and  his  nearest  friend 
false,  and  two  homes  were  disgraced  for 
ever.'' 

"  Oh  !"  was  Helena's  only  response.  She 
was  puzzled  and  pained  to  find  the  world 
not  all  like  the  sweet  and  holy  atmosphere 
of  her  own  home.  But  she  felt  sure  that 
Mr.  Laurence's  life  was  a  great  exception  to 
the  rule,  which  must  be  peace,  harmony  and 
purity  in  the  domestic  relations. 

As  the  two  girls  stood  in  the  pale  blue 
bower  which  was  Dolores's  apartment,  dis 
robing  for  the  night,  Helena  noticed  a  pho 
tograph  album  lying- near  at  hand.  "May 
I  look  at  the  pictures  ?"  she  asked,  and  as 
she  turned  the  leaves,  she  uttered  an  excla 
mation  of  delight  as  her  eyes  fell  on  the 
photograph  of  a  beautiful  child,  a  boy 
seemingly  four  or  five  years  old. 

"Oh,  Dolores,   what  a  cherub!    who  is 


•  A    FATAL     IMPRESS.  45 

this  ?"  she  asked.  "  He  is  a  perfect  beauty— 
and  he  has  your  lovely  mouth  too — is  he  a 
relative  2" 

Dolores  leaned  over  her  shoulder  and 
looked  at  the  portrait. 

"  That  ?  Oh,  that  is  my  father's  little  boy," 
she  said  indifferently.  ''The  picture  was 
sent  me  from  California  several  years  ago." 

"But  I  thought  you  told  me  you  had 
no  brothers  or  sisters,"  said  Helena,  with  a 
puzzled  look. 

Dolores  ran  her  slender  fingers  through 
her  silken  hair,  shaking  it  down  about  her 
like  a  golden  halo. 

"Well,  I  have  none,"  she  replied.  "I 
am  my  mother's  only  child.  He  is  my 
father's  child,  and  one  is  not  very  much 
related  to  one's  father  any  way,  you  know— 
and  surely  not  at  all  to  his  children  by 
another  mother." 

"Why,  Dolores  King !"  cried  Helena, 
now  thoroughly  shocked.  "  What  strange 
things  you  are  saying  !  Not  related  to  ones 
father  ?  Why,  it  is  just  as  near  and  sacred 
a  relation  as  that  of  a  mother." 


46  A    FATAL    IMPRESS. 

"Oh,  no!  child,"  interrupted  Dolores. 
"  Just  think  what  a  mother  suffers  for  us, 
endures  for  us,  goes  through  for  us,  from 
first  to  last.  From  the  moment  we  begin  to 
exist,  until  we  can  walk  alone,  we  are  a'phy- 
sical  drain  upon  our  mothers  :  while  our 
fathers  walk  free  and  untrammeled,  with 
only  perhaps  (and  perhaps  not  even  that)  the 
thought  of  our  maintenance  to  remind  them 
that  we  have  claims  upon  them.  It  is  only 
a  matter  of  association  and  personal  pride, 
which  endears  most  children  to  their  fathers, 
while  their  mothers  love  them  naturally.  I 
have  never  lived  with  my  father,  since  I  was 
a  small  infant.  I  was  placed  in  the  care  of 
a  nurse,  after  my  mother  died,  and  then  my 
father  married  again  very  soon,  and  my 
uncle  took  me  home.  I  am  sure  my  father 
has  no  affection  for  me,  and  I  have  none  for 
him.  I  have  seen  him  but  a  few  times  in  my 
life,  and  I  found  him  in  no  way  attractive 
to  me— and  then  I  always  remember  how 
unhappy  my  mother's  brief  life  was  with 
Jiim,  and  that  makes  me  almost  hate  him. 
So,  I  am  glad  we  do  not  meet  oftener.'* 


A    FATAL    IMPRESS.  47 

"Oh,  Dolores,"  sighed  Helena,  looking  at 
her  beautiful  companion  with  eyes  of  abso 
lute  compassion,  "I  think  it  is  terrible  for 
you  to  feel  like  this  towards  your  own 
father.  I  cannot  understand  it." 

"Well,"  confessed  Dolores,  pausing  in 
the  tasks  of  brushing  her  hair,  and  looking, 
in  her  dainty  white  robes,  as  Aphrodite 
clothed  in  mist  might  have  looked  had  she 
risen  from  the  sea  with  an  ivory  hair  brush 
in  her  hand;  "well,  sometimes  I  cannot 
understand  it  either.  But  I  once  saw  a  girl 
with  a  queer  mark  on  her  brow,  like  the 
gash  of  a  dagger  ;  and  I  was  told  that  it  was 
caused  by  her  father  being  struck  down  by  a 
robber,  right  before  her  mother's  eyes.  And 
when  I  read  my  mother's  diary,  kept  during 
her  one  year  of  married  life,  I  think  may  be 
I  was  marked  mentally,  just  that  way.  I 
suppose  such  a  thing  is  possible  ;  and  I  can 
no  more  help  my  feelings  than  the  girl 
could  help  having  the  mark  on  her  brow." 

Dolores  had  struck  a  deeper  truth  than 
she  imagined.  But  Helena's  mind  was  not 
able  to  grasp  it.  She  only  felt  that  her 


48  A    FATAL    IMPRESS. 

friend  was  more  and  more  of  an  enigma, 
and  crept  into  bed  with  her  brain  in  a 
state  of  chaotic  confusion,  bordering  upon 
fear. 


A    STARTLING    VALEDICTORY.  49 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    STARTLING   VALEDICTORY. 

HILE    the   household  slumbered  a 
pale   messenger    entered    silently 
and  said  to  one  of  its  members, 
"  This  night  thy  soul  is  required 
of  thee  !     Come  with  me." 

Mr.  Laurence  was  found  dead  in  his  bed 
in  the  morning,  a  smile,  warmer  than  his 
living  features  had  worn  for  years,  frozen 
upon  his  lips. 

For  those  who  have  witnessed  the  ghastly 
spectacle  of  a  modern  funeral,  no  description 
of  that  barbarous  rite  is  necessary.  Who 
has  not  seen  it  all — the  darkened  room,  sti 
fling  with  its  mingled  odors  of  flowers  and 
disinfectants  ;  the  sombre,  hideous  casket ; 
the  awful  ceremony  of  screwing  down  the 
lid  over  the  beloved  face  :  the  black  army  of 
pall-bearers  :  the  long,  slow,  mournful  jour 
ney  to  the  desolate,  disease -breeding  ceme- 
3 


50  A     STARTLING     VALEDICTORY. 

tery ;  the  damp,  dark,  yawning  pit,  the 
lowered  coffin,  the  sickening  thud  of  the 
earth  as  dust  returns  to  dust.  Oh  !  could 
the  most  savage  race  invest  death  with  more 
terrors  than  this  frightful  custom  of  the 
civilized  world  ?  Then  follows  the  long  pro 
cess  of  decay,  the  darkness,  the  gloom,  the 
weight  of  the  earth  upon  that  dear  breast, 
the  grave  worm  slowly  eating  his  slimy  way 
into  the  flesh  which  has  thrilled  under  our 
warm  kisses — God  !  are  we  not  cruel  to 
our  dead  ? 

Compare  with  this  the  beautiful  cere 
mony  of  cremation.  A  snowy  cloth  envel 
opes  the  dead.  A  door  swings  open  noise 
lessly,  and  the  iron  cradle,  with  its  burden 
clothed  as  for  the  nuptial  bed,  rolls  through 
the  aperture  and  disappears  in  a  glory  of 
crimson  light,  as  a  dove  sails  into  the  summer 
sunset  skies  and  is  lost  to  view.  There  is  no 
smoke,  no  flame,  no  odor  of  any  kind.  Noth 
ing  comes  in  contact  with  the  precious  form 
we  have  loved,  but  the  purity  of  intense 
heat,  and  the  splendor  of  great  light.  In  a 
few  hours,  swiftly,  noiselessly,  with  no 
repulsive  or  ghastly  features  in  the  process, 


A    STARTLING    VALEDICTORY.  51 

the  earthly  part  of  our  dear  one  is  reduced 
to  a  small  heap  of  snowy  ashes.  All  hail  the 
dawn  of  a  newer  and  higher  civilization, 
which  shall  substitute  the  cleanliness  and 
simplicity  of  cremation  for  the  complicated 
and  dreadful  horrors  of  burial  1 

By  Mr.  Laurence's  will  it  was  discovered 
that  his  entire  property,  amounting  to  a 
comfortable  competence,  belonged  to  Dol 
ores,  with  the  exception  of  the  homestead  : 
This  was  to  pass  into  the  hands  of  Dr.  Mon 
roe,  his  family  physician  and  only  intimate 
acquaintance.  Friends  offered  the  shelter 
of  their  homes  to  Dolores,  and  urged  her  to 
accept  their  sympathetic  hospitality  until 
her  future  plans  were  formed.  But  the  sor 
rowing  orphan  refused  to  leave  the  thrice 
gloomy  house.  She  clung  to  Helena,  and 
said,  between  her  sobs,  4 '  They  tell  me  I  must 
go  away  from  here  soon,  forever  :  that  it  is 
no  longer  my  home.  Surely,  I  may  remain 
a  little  while — a  few  weeks,  and  surely  you 
will  stay  with  me,  Helena  ?  I  cannot  leave 
it  all  so  suddenly — it  is  too  much  to  ask  of 
me." 

Finally  it  was  decided  that  Dr.  and  Mrs. 


52  A    STARTLING    VALEDICTORY. 

Monroe  should  take  immediate  charge  of 
their  new  home,  and  that  Helena  should 
remain  with  her  friend  until  her  prepara 
tions  were  completed  for  a  final  departure. 

Then  together  they  would  return  to 
Madame  Scranton's  to  remain  until  the  June 
vacation,  when  Dolores  would  receive  her 
diploma  as  a  "  finished  "  young  lady. 

One  day  Dolores  asked  Helena  to  assist 
her  in  selecting  and  packing  the  books  she 
wished  to  take  from  her  uncle's  library. 
According  to  his  will,  she  was  to  retain  such 
portion  of  his  collection  as  she  most  valued. 

"  All  those  on  the  second  and  lower 
shelves  you  may  take  down,"  she  said. 
"  They  are  my  favorites — they  have  helped 
to  form  my  mind  and  principles,  and  they 
seem  like  personal  friends  to  mo— and  far 
more  reliable  than  most  people. " 

Helena  read  the  titles  of  the  books  as  she 
dusted  them  off  and  placed  them  in  the 
packing  boxes. 

There  were  all  the  works  of  Chas.  Fourier, 
Histories  of  all  the  Communistic  Societies  of 
ancient  and  modern  times ;  all  of  George 
Sand's  Works,  Voltaire,  Shelly,  his  life  and 


A    STARTLING     VALEDICTORY.  53 

works ;  Life  of  Mary  Wollstonecraft,  and 
her  "  Vindication  of  the  Eights  of  Women  ;" 
Onderdonk's  "Marriage  prohibited  by  the 
Laws  of  God  ;"  Balzac's  "  Petty  Annoyances 
of  Married  Life ;"  "  Disadvantages  of  the 
Married  State," — an  antique  book  bearing  the 
date  of  1761 ;  works  by  Mitchell  and  J.  John 
son  on  the  same  subject ;  and  many  others 
by  obscure  authors.  With  the  exception,  of 
a  few,  they  were  nearly  all  books  of  which 
Helena  had  never  even  heard.  She  glanced 
through  the  pages  of  Fourier,  and  sighed. 

"Dear  me  !"  she  said,  "how  very  much 
deeper  your  mind  is  than  my  own,  Dolores. 
I  could  never  in  the  world  read  such  books 
as  those  ;  I  could  never  become  interested  in 
them.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  knew  another 
person  so  wise  as  you  are — for  your  age." 

"I  take  no  credit  to  myself,"  Dolores 
answered  ;  "  it  is  all  the  result  of  my  Uncle's 
training.  ( As  the  twig  is  bent,  the  tree  is 
inclined. '  And  yet  I  think  my  Mother's  diary 
prepared  me  for  this  train  of  thought  as 
nothing  else  could  have  done.  Some  day, 
Lena,  I  shall  show  you  that  diary  ;  and  then 
you  will  better  comprehend  me,  and  my 


54  A    STARTLING    VALEDICTORY. 

ideas.  But  not  yet ;  your  mind  is  too  child 
like  to  grasp  such  sad  truths.  And  still,  I 
think  they  can  scarcely  be  brought  to  our 
knowledge  too  soon." 

Helena's  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  her 
first  impulse  was  to  ask  Dolores  for  the 
diary,  or  at  least  to  urge  her  to  reveal  some 
thing  of  the  nature  of  its  contents.  But  a 
second  thought  caused  her  to  respond  in  an 
entirely  different  way. 

' k  I  should  wish  to  have  my  Mother  read 
the  diary  first,"  she  said,  "if  it  contains  any 
information  on  matters  of  which  I  am  now 
ignorant.  I  am  sure  she  would  be  the  best 
judge,  whether  or  not  I  need  such  instruc 
tion.  She  has  always  told  me  to  come  first 
to  her  for  explanation  of  any  thing  which 
surprised  or  puzzled  me.  I  am  sure  she 
would  not  approve  if  I  disobeyed  her  in  this 
instance." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Lena,"  her  friend 
answered,  with  a  sense  of  having  been 
quietly  rebuked.  ' '  I  know  I  have  talked 
too  freely  with  you  on  this  matter  ;  I  have 
excited  your  curiosity,  and  to  no  good  result. 
But  somehow,  I  talk  to  you  more  unreserv- 


A    STARTLING    VALEDICTORY.  55 

edly  than  I  ever  conversed  with  any  one  else. 

I  don't  know  why  ;  I  have  always  prided 
myself  on  my  reticence — yet  your  sweet 
sympathy  seems  to  destroy  my  caution.  I 
respect  your  delicate  idea  of  what  is  due 
your  mother,  and  I  will  not  thrust  my 
heart's  convictions  upon  you  again,  dear." 

Still,  it  was  owing  to  Helena's  own  sense 
of  honor,  that  Dolores  had  not  startled  and 
shocked  her  young  and  perfectly  innocent 
mind,  by  unfolding  unlovely  facts,  and  rude 
truths,  for  which  she  was  totally  unpre 
pared.  Yet,  Madame  Scmnton  had  assured 
Mrs.  Maxon,  that  Miss  King  was  an  admir 
able  companion  for  her  young  daughter. 
So  poorly  does  the  most  careful  preceptor,  as 
a  rule,  understand  the  complex  natures  in 
her  care,  and  so  little  does  the  most  prudent 
parent  realize  the  dangers  to  which  she 
exposes  her  daughter  in  these  boarding- 
school  intimacies. 

It  seemed  to  Helena,  that  she  was  years 
older,  and  sadder,  when,  at  the  expiration  of 
three  weeks,  she  accompanied  Dolores  back 
to  Madame  Scranton's  Academy. 

The  sudden  death  of  Mr.  Laurence,  upon 


56  A     STARTLING     VALEDICTORY. 


the  very  night  of  her  arrival,  the  gloom  of 
the  succeeding  days,  the  heart-breaking  sor 
row  of  Dolores,  as  she  bade  a  last  adieu  to 
the  old  house,  and  went  forth  homeless, 
though  an  heiress,  all  served  to  sadden  and 
depress  Helena's  usually  buoyant  spirits. 

"I  am  glad  I  went  home  with  Dolores," 
she  wrote  to  her  mother,  "  both  because  the 
poor  giil  needed  me  in  her  time  of  trouble, 
and  because  it  has  made  me  more  than  ever 
grateful  to  heaven  for  the  blessings  of  my 
dear  parents,  and  my  happy  home.  Poor 
Dolores  !  she  has  a  fortune,  and  great  per 
sonal  beauty,  and  a  wonderfully  deep  mind  ; 
you  would  be  surprised,  Mamma,  to  see  the 
books  that  girl  has  read.  But  she  has  no 
home,  110  mother,  and  my  heart  aches  for 
her.  For  some  strange  reason,  she  seems  to 
feel  a  repugnance,  that  is  almost  hatred, 
towards  her  father,  who  is  living,  you  know. 
She  says,  when  I  read  her  mother's  diary, 
that  I  will  understand  her  better.  She 
puzzles  me  very  much,  she  says  such 
strange  things.  But  I  am  very  fond  of  her, 
Mamma,  and  I  want  you  to  invite  her  to 
come  home  with  me,  after  she  graduates. 


A    STARTLING    VALEDICTORY.  57 


Just  think  !  she  has  no  place  on  earth  she 
can  call  home.  Is  it  not  a  terribly  sad  situa 
tion  for  a  girl  like  her  ?"  So  it  was  decided 
that  Dolores  should  accompany  her  friend 
to  Elm  Hill,  at  the  close  of  the  term. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Maxon  might  have  hesita 
ted,  in  writing  the  sweet  motherly  letter  of 
invitation  which  she  sent  to  Dolores,  if  she 
had  seen  the  manuscript  upon  which  that 
young  lady  was  hard  at  work  :  the  manu 
script  of  the  address  she  was  to  deliver, 
''Commencement  Day." 

Mrs.  Maxon  was  present  when  that  day 
arrived.  Fair  girls  in  snowy  costumes 
fluttered  upon  the  stage  of  the  assembly 
hall,  like  a  shower  of  apple- blossoms  ; 
delivered  themselves  of  pretty  platitudes, 
and  time-worn  sentiments,  in  sweet  treble 
voices :  were  listened  to,  and  applauded,  by 
proud  parents  and  admiring  friends,  and 
made  their  graceful  exit,  no  longer  school 
girls,  but  young  ladies  fully  equipped  for 
"  Society." 

All  but  one.  She  came,  clothed  in  deepest 
mourning,  with  only  a  cluster  of  purple 
pansies  to  relieve  the  dead  blackness  of  her 


58  A     STARTLING     VALEDICTORY. 


garments,  out  of  which  rose  like  a  star  from 
midnight  clouds  her  beautiful,  pallid  face, 
with  its  crown  of  golden  hair. 

Perfect  silence  reigned  in  the  Assembly 
Hall,  when  Dolores  began  speaking.  Her 
voice  was  clear  as  the  tones  of  a  silver  bell, 
her  pronunciation  distinct  and  deliberate. 
Her  theme  was,  "Woman,  her  Duties  and 
her  Dangers."  In  terse  and  finely  chosen 
sentences,  she  denounced  marriage  as  a 
bondage  and  slavery,  of  the  most  degrading 
type— opposed  to  the  highest  interest  of 
Society  as  a  whole,  and  a  women  in  par 
ticular.  She  quoted  liberally  from  various 
authors,  to  substantiate  her  assertions,  and 
closed  with  an  eloquent  appeal  to  all  her 
classmates,  to  avoid  this  dangerous  pitfall ; 
to  go  forth  into  world  self-reliant  and  strong 
in  their  determination  to  make  places  and 
homes  for  themselves,  untrammeled  by  in 
dissoluble  and  uncongenial  companionships. 
Although  making  her  assertions  with  most 
startling  positiveness,  her  choice  language 
conveyed  no  offensive  phrases.  But  the 
address,  on  the  whole,  was  so  socialistic,  and 
its  ideas  so  unfeminine  and  extreme,  that  it 


A    STARTLING    VALEDICTORY.  59 


feel,  if  not  like  a  bomb-shell,  at  least  like  a 
small  torpedo,  in  that  assemblage  of  conven 
tional  maidens  and  matrons.  And  Dolores 
beautiful  and  .brilliant,  and  (if  too  reserved 
to  be  a  favorite),  at  least  the  most  admired 
and  envied  of  her  class,  retired  from  the 
platform  amidst  a  profound  silence. 

Madame  Scranton  felt  deeply  mortified  at 
the  conduct  of  her  model  pupil.  She  had 
known  the  title  of  Dolores's  address,  but 
having  such  unlimited  faith  in  that  young 
lady's  discretion,  and  ability,  she  had  not 
deemed  it  necessary  to  inspect  the  manu 
script.  Other  pupils  needed  her  attention, 
and  she  felt  confident  that  Miss  King  would 
deliver  a  masterly  effort — one  which  would 
reflect  credit  upon  herself  and  the  Academy. 
Dolores  invariably  did  well.  Madame  was 
aware,  that  she  had  contracted  some  severe 
prejudices  against  marriage  ;  that  she  was, 
in  fact,  almost  a  man-hater.  But  these  ideas 
would  no  doubt  wear  away,  in  contact  with 
the  world.  She  had  not  the  slightest  knowl 
edge  of  their  strong,  tenacious  hold  upon 
Dolores's  mind,  until  she  sat  in  shocked 


60  A     STARTLING     VALEDICTORY. 


surprise,  and  listened  to  her  startling  ora 
tion. 

So  soon  as  her  duties  would  permit, 
Madame  hastened  to  make  her  apologies  to 
Mrs.  Max  on. 

u  I  fear  you  will  distrust  my  judgment," 
she  said,  l '  in  placing  your  daughter  in  close 
companionship  with  that  young  lady.  But 
really,  the  strange  outburst  from  Miss  King 
is  wholly  unaccountable  to  me.  I  cannot 
understand  where  she  contracted  such 
ideas." 

"  I  think  I  can,"  Mrs.  Maxon  answered, 
quietly,  remembering  Helena's  references  to 
her  friend  in  her  letters.  "I  am  about  to 
take  the  young  lady  home  with  me,  and  I 
hope  I  can  rid  her  of  some  of  her  morbid 
ideas.  It  is  well  for  young  ladies  to  make 
marriage  a  secondary,  not  the  first  consider 
ation  of  life  ;  but  it  is  very  unfortunate  to 
view  the  matter  through  Miss  King's 
diseased  eyes.  There  must  be  some  cause 
for  her  peculiar  state  of  mind.  I  shall  try 
and  fathom  it." 


A    YOUNG     CYNIC.  61 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    YOUNG    CYMC. 

RS.    MAXON  sat  on  the  pleasant 
veranda  of  her  home,  at  Elm  Hill, 
with  a  snowy  piece  of  needlework 
in  her  hands. 
Mr.    Maxon  lounged    back    in  a    rustic 
chair,    smoking  a  fragrant  cigar.     Dolores 
swung    lazily  in  a  hammock    near  by,   a 
beautiful  picture  of  indolent  repose. 

From  within,   floated    a    rarely  musical 
voice  in  snatches  of  song  : 

The  day  is  drawing  near,  my  dear, 
When  you  and  I  must  sever ; 
Yet  whether  near  or  far  we  are, 
Our  hearts  will  love  forever, 
Our  hearts  will  love  forever. 


62  A    YOUNG    CYNIC. 

0  sweet,  I  will  be  true,  and  you 
Must  never  fail  or  falter  ; 

1  bold  a  love  like  mine  divine, 
And  yours — it  must  not  alter, 
O,  swear  it  will  not  alter. 

She  sang  the  simple  words  to  a  light 
flowing  air,  with  a  rippling  accompaniment. 
Then,  suddenly  striking  rich  chords  of  har 
mony,  she  broke  into  a  song  that  might 
have  served  well  as  a  passionate  response  to 
the  other  ditty  : 

I  will  be  true.     Mad  stars  forsake  tbeir  courses, 
And,  led  by  reckless  meteors,  turn  away 
From  paths  appointed  by  Eternal  Forces. 
But  my  fixed  heart  shall  never  go  astray. 
Like   those    calm    worlds,    whose    sun-directed 

motion 

Is  undisturbed  by  strife  of  wind  or  sea, 
So  shall  my  swerveless,  and  serene  devotion 
Sweep  on  forever,  loyal  unto  thee. 

I  will  be  true.     Light  barks  may  be  belated, 
Or  turned  aside  by  every  breeze  at  play  ; 
While   sturdy   ships,    well   manned,  and   richly 
freighted, 


A    YOUNG     CYNIC.  63 


With  broad  sails  flying,  anchor  safe  in  bay. 
Like     some    firm    rock,     that,    steadfast     and 

unshaken, 

Stands  all  unmoved,  while  ebbing  billows  flee, 
So  would  my  heart  stand,  faithful  if  forsaken. 
I  will  be  true,  though  thou  art  false  to  me. 

"  How  wonderfully  Lena's  voice  has 
improved  during  the  last  year  ;"  Mrs.  Maxon 
said,  with  motherly  pride,  as  the  song 
ceased.  "And  she  sings,  too,  with  great 
feeling  ;  do  you  not  think  so,  Miss  King  ? 
She  seemed  to  throw  so  much  intensity  into 
those  words  just  now,  as  if  they  came  from 
her  very  heart." 

1 '  She  has  a  remarkably  magnetic  voice  ; 
and  one  that  stirs  the  best  impulses  of 
her  listeners,"  Dolores  answered.  "I  am 
peculiarly  susceptible  to  different  kinds  of 
music.  A  violin  appeals  to  the  artistic 
and  spiritual  part  of  me.  A  pipe-organ 
stirs  the  dramatic  and  sorrowful  side  of 
my  nature.  A  violin  lifts  up  my  thoughts 
towards  the  Celestial  City  that  awaits  me. 
An  organ  makes  me  wonder  why  this 
tragic  life  wa.s  ever  thrust  upon  my  unwil- 


64  A    YOUNG    CYNIC. 


ling  soul.  Helena's  voice  affects  me  in 
stil]  another  way.  Whenever  I  hear  her 
sing,  I  feel  a  curious  uprising  of  all  my  men 
tal  powers,  of  all  my  moral  forces.  It  seems 
to  me  there  is  nothing  I  can  not  do,  and  be. 
It  is  only  one  voice  in  a  thousand  which  can 
affect  me  in  this  manner." 

"I  understand  what  you  mean,"  Mrs. 
Maxon  replied.  "I  have  heard  nearly  all 
our  public  singers,  and  among  them  all 
Emma  Abbott's  voice  possessed  for  me  more 
of  this  peculiar  quality,  which  you  rightly 
term  magnetic,  than  any  of  her  no  doubt 
greater  rivals.  I  think  it  is  derived  from 
the  electric  temperament  of  the  singer  ;  and 
it  is  almost  always  associated  with  an  unsel 
fish  nature.  But  what  ever  its  cause,  it  is  a 
great  gift." 

' 'Yes,  and  one  which  no  amount  of 
training  or  culture  can  supply  if  it  is  denied 
by  nature.  But  do  you  know,  I  feel  pro 
voked  with  Lena,  when  she  wastes  the 
music  of  her  lovely  voice  on  such  senti 
ments  as  those  songs  contained  ?" 

"There  you  go  prancing  off  on  your 
hobby  again, "laughed  Helena,  who  emerged 


A     YOUNG    CYNIC.  65 

from  the  house  just  in  time  to  hear  Dolores's 
closing  sentence.  "Can't  you  let  me  some 
times  indulge  in  a  little  sentiment  in  my 
music,  dear  ?" 

' c  And  what  nobler  themes  for  song  can 
you  find,  Dolores  ?"  Mrs.  Maxon  asked 
gently,  "  than  love,  faith,  and  loyalty. 
They  are  the  foundations  of  the  world  and 
society." 

' '  But  it  seems  so  foolishly  absurd  for  two 
people  to  swear  to  love  each  other  forever  !" 
Dolores  continued,  with  a  touch  of  scorn  in 
her  voice.  "  No  doubt  they  often  believe  it 
possible,  but  one  or  the  other  is  sure  to 
falter  ;  and  then  a  broken  oath  renders  the 
human  weakness  of  change  a  sin.  I  do  not 
believe  that  two  people  should  pledge  them 
selves  to  love  forever.  We  cannot  compel  a 
sentiment  or  an  emotion  to  remain  with  us, 
after  it  chooses  to  depart.  We  can,  of  course, 
compel  ourselves  to  live  up  to  its  require 
ments,  through  principle,  though  this  would 
be  dreary  work,  I  fancy.  Yet  it  is  the  situa 
tion  of  half  the  married  couples  in  the  world. 
Love  flies,  and  takes  with  him  all  the  real 
pleasures  they  found  in  each  other's  society. 


66  A    YOUNG     CYNIC. 


Yet  they  plod  along,  in  a  compulsory  sort  of 
fashion,  doing  their  duty — ugh  ;  it  is  hor 
rible  to  think  of.  Society  is  all  wrong." 

Mrs.  Maxon  dropped  her  work  and  looked 
at  Dolores  with  a  compassionate  glance. 

"You  must  admit  that  there  are  many 
exceptions  to  your  rule,  Dolores,"  she  said. 
"Surely  your  month  in  our  home  ought 
to  convince  you  that  love  has  abided  here 
through  many  years." 

"Yes,  I  am  very  sure  of  that,"  Dolores 
admitted.  i '  But  your  life  is  an  exceptional 
one  in  this  respect.  You  know  the  old 
mythological  tale  of  the  creation  of  souls  ? 
An  angel  stands  beside  a  liquid  sea,  dipping 
in  a  long  pole.  Upon  its  point  he  brings  up 
a  perfect  globule  :  it  contains  two  souls- 
affinities.  He  gently  shakes  the  pole — and 
one  half  rolls  away  :  he  shakes  it  again,  and 
away  rolls  the  other  in  an  opposite  direction. 
Day  and  night,  for  weeks,  months,  years, 
centuries,  he  plies  his  task,  while  the  sepa 
rated  globules  increase,  and  multiply,  and  go 
rolling  about  the  world  seeking  their  affini 
ties.  So  innumerable  in  numbers,  and  so 
similar  in  appearance,  it  is  no  wonder  if 


A    YOUNG    CYNIC.  67 


mistakes  occur  in  the  selections  they  make. 
The  only  wonder  is,  that  one  in  a  million 
actually  finds  its  own  half.  You,  madame, 
are  an  illustration,  that  such  a  miracle  is 
possible,  and  I  congratulate  you.  But  the 
dreary  outlook  remains  for  the  majority." 

Mr.  Maxon  removed  his  cigar  and 
laughed  heartily  at  the  young  lady's  bright 
response. 

"  You  'are  incorrigible,'' he  said.  "Mrs. 
Maxon,  it  is  useless  to  endeavor  to  worst 
Miss  King  in  argument.  Just  wait  till 
Prince  Charming  appears,  however,  and  see 
how  easily  he  will  convince  her  that  their 
souls  were  originally  one  -perfect  globule. 
And  she  will  promise  to  love,  honor,  and 
obey,  forever,  without  a  murmur." 

"  Never!"  cried  Dolores,  springing  to  her 
feet.  "  I  will  never  become  the  wife  of  any 
man — I  have  solemnly  sworn  it.  I  would  as 
soon  be  sold  into  slavery.  I  can  imagine  no 
fate  more  humiliating  to  a  proud  woman, 
than  that  of  a  neglected  or  unloved  wife," 
and  she  abruptly  entered  the  house. 

There  came  a  time  when  she  realized  the 
possibility  of  a  fate  more  humiliating. 


68  A    YOUNG    CYNIC. 


That  night,  as  Mrs.  Maxon  sat  in  her  room 
alone,  overlooking  some  linen,  Dolores  tap 
ped  gently  at  her  door. 

She  came  forward  in  answer  to  Mrs. 
Maxon's  bidding,  her  lovely  hair  flowing 
over  her  white  garments,  her  face  pale  with 
suppressed  emotion. 

"Mrs.  Maxon,  I  have  brought  you  my 
mother's  diary  to  read,"  she  said.  "  I  think 
it  will  help  you  to  better  understand  my 
ideas  on  the  subject  of  marriage.  No  eyes 
save  my  uncle's  and  my  own  have  ever  pe 
rused  its  pages.  But  I  want  you  to  see  it — 
that  you  may  understand  me  more  fully." 
And,  placing  the  little  journal  in  Mrs. 
Maxon's  hand,  she  glided  away. 

The  following  morning  Dolores  received 
a  letter  which  brought  the  most  unexpected 
changes  in  her  life.  This  was  the  letter  : 

"N.  Y.  CITY,  July  30,  18—. 
"  Miss  DOLORES  KING  :— 

"It  is  quite  possible  you  may  have  heard 
your  uncle,  Mr.  Laurence,  speak  of  Sarah 
Winters.  I  was  at  one  time  an  intimate 
friend  of  your  mother's  before  her  marriage. 


A    YOUNG    CINIC. 


After  her  death  I  called  twice  to  see  you, 
her  baby  orphan.  Then  I  married  and  lost 
track  of  you  during  several  years.  Eecently 
the  news  of  your  uncle's  death  and  your 
second  bereavement  reached  me  accidentally. 
I  made  inquiries  and  learned  that  you  had 
graduated  from  Madame  Scrantoii's  Acad 
emy,  and,  though  possessed  of  a  competence, 
that  you  were  entirely  without  a  home. 
Now  I  will  tell  you  my  object  in  addressing 
you.  Several  years  ago  I  was  left  a  widow, 
and  without  means.  During  my  youth  and 
early  married  life,  I  had  lived  much  abroad. 
I  was  familiar  with  the  Old  World,  and 
understood  all  the  ins  and  outs,  so  to  speak, 
of  travel.  And  the  idea  suggested  itself  to 
me  that  I  might  bring  my  knowledge  to  a 
practical  use.  Consequently  I  became  a  pro 
fessional  chaperone  for  parties  of  ladies  who 
desired  to  go  abroad  and  see  the  greatest 
amount  possible  of  the  Old  World,  with  the 
least  expense.  For  a  stated  sum,  I  agree 
to  conduct  parties  all  through  the  most 
desirable  portions  of  Europe,  pay  all  the  bills 
incident  to  travel,  and  return  them  safely  to 
their  native  land.  In  ten  days  I  sail  with 


70  A    YOUNG    CYNIC. 

ray  fifth  expedition — which  consists  of 
twenty  ladies,  for  all  of  whom  I  vouch  as  to 
character  and  respectability.  Would  you 
not  like  to  join  us  ?  I  am  anxious  to  renew 
my  acquaintance  with  you — the  orphaned 
child  of  my  old  friend  and  companion.  For 
information  concerning  me,  I  refer  you  to 
Smith  &  Millet,  Bankers;  the  Eev.  Dr. 
Bradly,  Rector  of  St.  Paul's,"  &c.,  &c. 

Then  followed  a  long  list  of  references, 
together  with  the  terms  for  the  expedition. 
The  letter  was  signed  Mrs.  Sara  Butler. 

Dolores  passed  the  letter  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Maxoii  for  their  perusal  and  opinion.  "I 
remember  hearing  my  uncle  speak  of  Mrs. 
Butler,"  she  said.  "Her  husband  was  a 
miserable  drunkard,  and  wasted  all  her  prop 
erty  in  a  dissipated  career.  I  should  love 
dearly  to  go  abroad  ;  it  has  been  the  dream 
of  my  life." 

Accordingly,  Mr.  Maxon  dispatched  one  or 
two  letters  of  inquiry  concerning  Mrs.  But 
ler,  and  received  replies  corroborating  all  her 
statements.  And  Dolores  decided  to  accept 


A    YOUNG    CYNIC.  71 

this  opportunity  for  travel  under  such  excel 
lent  guardianship. 

Since  the  death  of  her  uncle,  the  future 
had  seemed  to  her  a  shoreless  sea — a  waste 
of  water  with  no  green  island  in  view.  She 
had  not  found  it  possible  to  make  any 
plans,  but  had  accepted  each  day  as  it  came, 
not  daring  to  look  beyond.  Now  she  was 
thankful  that  another  had  planned  for  her. 
She  wrote  her  acceptance  to  Mrs.  Butler,  and 
in  a  few  days  went  out  from  the  sweet  rest 
and  seclusion  of  this  ideal  home— forever. 

She  wept  violently  when,  parting  from 
Helena,  and  clasped  her  again  and  again  to 
the  heart  that  would  one  day  hate  her  with 
all  the  fury  of  a  desperate  soul  at  bay. 


72  A    MOTHER'S    VIEW     OF 


CHAPTER  VI. 
A  MOTHER'S  VIEW  OP  "WOMAN'S  RIGHTS." 

RS.  MAXON  read  the  diary  and 
returned  it  to  Dolores  the  night 
previous  to  her  departure.  But  in 
the  hurry  and  excitement  incident 
to  the  occasion,  she  found  no  suitable  oppor 
tunity  for  a  long  motherly  talk  with  the 
young  lady,  as  she  had  hoped.  She  merely 
said,  as  she  returned  the  book  : 

"I  am  glad  you  permitted  me  to  read 
this,  Dolores.  It  has  enabled  me  to  better 
understand  your  strange  repugnance  for 
marriage.  Your  mother  was  an  unwilling 
parent,  and  your  nature  is  impregnated  with 
the  rebellious  feelings  which  filled  her 
heart  and  brain.  I  hope  you  will  outgrow 
them,  however,  and  anchor  yourself  in  a 
happy  home.  I  could  wish  for  you  no 
greater  joy  than  a  married  life  as  congenial 
and  pleasant  as  my  own." 


"WOMAN'S    RIGHTS."  73 

After  Dolores's  departure,  Helena  referred 
to  the  subject  of  the  diary. 

"Dolores  told  me  that  you  read  it, 
Mamma,  and  I  am  really  curious  to  know 
the  contents  of  that  mysterious  book.  She 
used  to  refer  to  it  so  often,  and  one  time  she 
would  have  shown  it  to  me,  because  she  said 
it  contained  truths  which  I  ought  to  know  ; 
but  I  would  not  read  it  without  your  per 
mission.  Was  Dolores's  mother  a  greatly 
wronged  woman,  Mamma  ?  and  was  her 
husband  so  very  unkind  to  her  ?  Dolores 
seemed  to  almost  loathe  his  memory,  and  I 
fancied  he  must  have  been  a  very  cruel 
man." 

Mrs.  Maxon  took  Helena's  hand  and  drew 
her  down  on  a  low  ottoman  at  her  side. 
They  were  quite  alone. 

"No,  my  child,"  she  said,  gravely;  "Mr. 
King  was  not  a  cruel  man,  and  Mrs.  King 
was  not  a  greatly  wronged  woman.  But 
their  marriage  was  not  a  true  and  holy  one, 
according  to  my  idea  of  that  sacred  relation. 
In  the  early  pages  of  the  diary,  written  just 
before  and  just  after  the  marriage,  the 
young  bride  speaks  constantly  of  her  pride 


74  A     MOTHER'S     VIEW     OF 


in  having  made  a  brilliant  alliance.  It 
seems  she  bettered  her  condition  in  a  worldly 
sense,  by  her  marriage,  and  it  was  this  ambi 
tion,  rather  than  a  great  love,  which  led  to 
the  union.  During  the  first  few  months,  the 
diary  abounds  with  references  to  receptions, 
dinners,  balls,  where  she  had  been  admired 
and  courted.  Then  begins  a  series  of  wild, 
despairing  complaints  against  Providence 
and  her  husband  and  the  world.  Bitter, 
unreasoning  denunciations  of  the  marriage 
tie,  and  mournful  regrets,  as  weak  as  use 
less,  for  her  lost  freedom.  All  this  was 
occasioned  by  the  knowledge  that  she  was  to 
become  a  mother.  Her  emotions  seemed  to 
culminate  in  violent  anger  toward  her  hus 
band,  and  resentful  wrath  at  a  social  system 
which  she  said  was  more  brutal  than  the 
laws  which  govern  brutes  ;  since  they  are 
never  compelled  to  bring  undesired  offspring 
into  the  world,  with  every  instinct  crying 
out  against  it.  Almost  insane  with  the 
intensity  of  these  emotions,  it  is  no  wonder 
her  daughter's  mind  was  impressed  with 
them.  Now,  my  sweet  child,"  continued 
Mrs.  Maxon,  drawing  Helena  closer  to  her 


"WOMAN'S    RIGHTS."  75 

side,  "all  this  is  very  strange  to  you,  I 
know,  but  it  is  a  subject  of  vast  importance 
to  all  our  sex — to  all  the  world  ;  and  I  think 
you  are  at  an  age  when  you  ought  to  under 
stand  it  fully. " 

"That  is  what  Dolores  said,  Mamma," 
interrupted  Helena.  "She  said  I  ought  to 
know  these  things,  and  she  wanted  me  to 
read  the  diary." 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  glad  you  did  not  read  it," 
her  mother  replied.  "  It  would  be  like  look 
ing  for  a  reflection  of  your  own  sweet  face 
in  a  broken  mirror.  The  diary  presented 
important  facts  for  your  consideration,  to  be 
sure,  but  it  presented  them  in  a  diseased  and 
unnatural  form.  The  subject  of  marriage 
and  maternity,  as  treated  in  the  diary,  would 
have  alarmed  and  shocked  you,  while  in 
reality  they  are  as  sacred  and  beautiful  as 
religion.  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance 
that  our  girls  and  women  should  think  upon 
these  subjects,  and  think  of  them  as  natural 
and  holy  events,  before  taking  upon  them 
selves  the  duties  of  wives  and  mothers.  But 
it  would  have  been  a  matter  of  lasting  regret 
to  me  if  you  had  gained  your  first  ideas  of 


76  A    MOTHER'S     VIEWS     OF 

these  momentous  questions  from  the  diary. 
It  is  by  her  own  mother  a  girl  should  be 
taught  to  understand  these  things  in  all  their 
beauty  and  solemnity. 

"  In  the  case  of  Mrs.  King,  her  first  great 
error  lay  in  the  wrong  motive  which  led  to 
her  marriage.  It  was  ambition — not  love  or 
respect  ;  and  motherhood  she  regarded  as  a 
misfortune.  She  was  evidently  a  woman  of 
strong  feeling,  and  therefore  more  capable  of 
influencing  the  mind  of  her  offspring.  The 
child  came  into  the  world  with  the  same 
intense  hatred  of  the  father,  and  rebellion 
against  marriage,  which  had  filled  her 
mother's  heart  all  these  months." 

"How  very  strange!'7  mused  Helena, 
bewildered. 

' '  Yes,  strange,  beautiful  and  terrible  in 
the  responsibility  it  places  upon  our  sex, 
Helena.  We  make  or  mar  the  character  of 
our  offspring,  often,  by  the  thoughts  we 
entertain  during  the  prenatal  period  of  their 
existence.  You  know  I  am  an  advocate  for 
the  widest  education  of  woman  ;  for  her 
having  all  the  doors  of  the  professions,  and 
arts,  and  trades,  flung  open  to  her,  if  she 


"WOMAN'S     RIGHTS."  77 

chooses  to  fit  herself  to  enter  them.  Yet  I 
am  surprised  and  pained,  often,  as  I  see  so 
many  of  the  most  interested  and  zealous 
workers  in  this  cause,  ignoring  or  misusing 
the  grand  and  wonderful  right  and  duty, 
ordained  by  heaven  for  woman — the  right  of 
moulding  the  mind,  temper,  and  character  of 
her  children.  You  know,  dear,  do  you  not, 
the  world-wide  reputation  which  ancient 
Greece  had  in  its  glory  for  the  beauty  of  its 
people  ? " 

"Oh,  yes.  I  learned  all  about  that  at 
school.  The  Greeks  were  the  handsomest 
people — the  most  perfect,  physically,  I  sup 
pose — of  any  race  which  ever  existed." 

"Yes,  that  is  true,  Helena.  And  now 
let  me  tell  you  the  cause  of  this.  In  Greece, 
a  woman  who  was  to  become  a  mother  was 
guarded  from  every  annoyance,  or  pain,  or 
peril ;  she  was  regarded  by  her  husband,  and 
by  all  men,  as  a  divine  being,  chosen  by  God 
as  a  holy  messenger  from  His  very  courts. 
She  was  surrounded  by  beautiful  paintings, 
music,  literature,  and  an  atmosphere  of  love 
and  homage.  It  is  no  wonder  that  the 
Greeks  became  the  most  beautiful  people  in 


78  A    MOTHER'S     VIEWS     OF 

the  world.  But  as  time  passed,  all  this 
changed.  Men  failed  to  hold  women  in  such 
reverence — and  then  Greece  fell ;  and  its 
glory,  and  the  beauty  of  its  people,  became 
only  a  thing  of  the  past.  There  is  an  old 
mythological  tale  that  the  soul  of  a  man  who 
maltreats  a  woman  at  this  time  goes  into  an 
owl's  body  when  he  dies,  and  remains  there 
through  three  generations.  But  in  our  own 
country,  I  think  women  maltreat  themselves 
more  frequently.  Every  wrong  impulse, 
every  unkind  thought  or  act  that  enters  into 
a  woman's  heart,  during  this  sacred  period, 
should  be  guarded  against  and  dispelled,  with 
caution  and  with  prayer.  To  listen  to  fine 
music,  to  look  upon  lovely  objects,  to  enjoy 
agreeable  surroundings,  these  things  are  not 
always  within  reach  of  a  woman.  But 
efforts  at  self-command,  and  an  unselfish 
forethought  for  the  future  of  the  child, 
and  prayer — the  humblest  can  employ  these 
means  to  the  desired  end.  Prayer  is  the  key 
to  heaven.  It  admits  us  to  the  sacrament 
of  angels.  In  God's  vast  Government  he 
has  constantly  a  deputy  of  angels  who  guard 
each  human  being.  If  we  appeal  to  them, 


WOMAN'S     RIGHTS."  79 


they  redouble  their  efforts  to  help  and 
strengthen  us.  If  we  neglect  and  ignore 
them,  they  finally  grow  disheartened  and 
turn  to  more  willing  souls.  It  is  my  belief 
that  there  are  no  heights  of  moral  grandeur 
we  can  not  attain,  if  we  are  vigilant  in 
prayer.  I  want  you  to  remember  that  many 
of  our  criminals,  are  the  results  of  a  mother's 
attempt  to  destroy  her  helpless  child.  The 
murderous  impulse  was  imparted  to  the 
defenseless  little  creature,  a  seed  that  blos 
somed  into  rank  crime.  Many  an  unruly 
and  defiant  son,  who  breaks  his  mother's 
heart,  by  his  disobedience  and  rebellion, 
could  lay  the  cause  at  his  mother's  door. 

' '  Never  was  a  child  more  eagerly  longed 
for  than  your  own  sweet  self,  Helena,  My 
heart  overflowed  with  happiness,  all  during 
those  months  of  expectancy.  As  a  conse 
quence,  your  own  nature  is  full  of  joy  and 
sunshine,  and  you  have  been  a  comfort  and 
a  blessing  to  me  always.  Yet  I  was  ignorant 
of  any  great  responsibility  at  that  time.  Not 
till  later  in  life  did  I  obtain  the  knowledge, 
which  is  of  far  more  value  to  our  young 
women  graduates,  than  all  the  horrors  of 


80  ''WOMAN'S    RIGHTS." 

vivisection  with  which  so  many  of  them  are 
familiar. 

' '  And  now,  good  night,  my  daughter. 
Eemember  that  these  subjects  should  never 
be  discussed  lightly  or  irreverently  ;  they 
are  holy,  and  sacred,  and  beautiful ;  they 
are  part  of  religion,  for  they  pertain  to  the 
divine  mysteries  of  our  existence." 


THE    LOVELY    CYNIC.  81 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE  LOVELY  CYNIC  MEETS  HER  FATE. 

EECY  DURAND  looked  out  of  the 
window  of    his  compartment,  as 
the  train  paused  at  Montivilliers, 
and  lazily  watched  the  people  on 
the  platform. 

"  There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun," 
he  yawned.  "The  world  is  monotonously 
alike,  go  where  you  will.  There  are  always 
the  same  people  hurrying  to  catch  the  train, 
and  waiting  until  they  can  blockade  the  car 
steps  before  they  bid  a  lingering  farewell  to 
friends.  Then  there  are  the  same  irritated 
and  baggage-encumbered  travelers  waiting 
behind  them,  and  cursing  inwardly,  and— 
upon  my  soul,  what  a  very  pretty  girl  I" 

This  irrelevant  finale  to  the  idle  reverie 
of  the  blast  Young  American,  was  caused 
by  the  glimpse  of  a  perfect  profile,  a  coil  of 
y@]low  hair  and  a  gracefully- poised  head 


THE     LOVELY     CYNIC 


under  a  jaunty  hat,  passing  by  the  window. 
Percy  Durand  believed  that  he  had  exhausted 
nearly  all  his  capabilities  of  enjoyment  in 
this  stale  world.  But  his  artistic  appi-ecia- 
tion  of  the  beautiful  still  remained  to  him. 
The  study  of  a  handsome  face,  whether  on 
man,  woman,  or  child,  was  one  of  his 
greatest  sources  of  pleasure. 

Craning  his  neck  to  obtain  another 
glimpse  of  the  lovely  vision,  he  was  sud 
denly  made  aware  that  the  door  of  his  com 
partment  had  been  thrown  open,  and  that 
two  ladies  had  entered. 

One,  the  very  object  of  his  thoughts  ;  the 
other,  a  fine-looking  middle-aged  lady,  whose 
dignified  expression  suddenly  gave  place  to 
a  smile  of  recognition,  as  her  eyes  fell  upon 
Percy. 

"  Why,  surely  this  is  Mr.  Durand — Nora 
Tracy's  Cousin  i  Pierre,'  is  it  not  ?"  she  said, 
holding  out  her  hand.  "  Ah,  I  see  you  have 
forgotten  me." 

"No,  indeed,  Mrs.  Butler,  I  have  not  !" 
cried  Percy,  giving  the  extended  hand  a 
thoroughly  American  "  shake" — not  the 
polite  touch  of  kid- covered  finger-tips,  but 


MEETS     HER    FATE.  83 


the  cordial  clasp  that  means  so  much  to 
Americans  meeting  in  a  foreign  land. 
"  How  could  I  forget  the  friend  and 
chaperone  of  my  dear  cousin.  Only  yester 
day,  in  a  letter  I  received,  she  spoke  of  you, 
and  said  she  hoped  it  might  be  my  good 
fortune  to  run  across  you.  It  is  a  pleasure 
I  hardly  expected  however.'' 

Mrs.  Butler,  after  acknowledging  the 
speech  with  a  few  polite  words,  turned 
toward  her  companion. 

"Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  protege," 
she  said.  "Mr.  Durand  :  Miss  King."  And 
Percy  looked  into  eyes  as  blue,  and  cold,  as 
the  waters  of  some  quiet  lake  sleeping  under 
a  winter  moon,  and  saw  a  face  as  faultlessly 
beautiful  as  the  features  of  a  marble  goddess. 

There  was  nothing  romantic  or  unusual, 
in  this  very  commonplace  meeting  between 
two  people  whose  destinies  were  to  be  so 
tragically  interwoven.  Neither  was  power 
fully  impressed  by,  or  drawn  toward  the 
other.  There  was  no  warning  in  either  heart 
of  the  fate  to  come. 

Dolores  King, — now  in  the  perfection  of 
her  womanhood,  matured  by  the  experiences 


84  THE     LOVELY     CYNIC 


of  travel,  contact  with  the  world,  wide  read 
ing,  and  all  the  many  advantages  financial 
independence  gives, — regarded  Mr.  Percy  Du- 
rand  as  a  very  good  looking  typical  American, 
in  his  late  twenties.  A  little  too  thin  and 
blond,  perhaps,  to  suit  her  ideal  of  mascu 
line  beauty,  but  a  man  of  fine  address,  and 
possessed  of  a  wonderfully  musical  voice. 

She  felt  a  trifle  more  interest  in  him  than 
she  usually  felt  in  the  chance  acquaintances 
Mrs.  Butler  was  forever  running  across, 
from  the  fact  that  Nora  Tracy,  now  Mrs. 
Phillips,  who  had  been  a  great  favorite  and 
pet  with  Mrs.  Butler,  was  his  cousin. 

Percy  Durand  admired  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  Miss  King's  face,  the  graceful  dig 
nity  of  her  bearing,  and  quietly  analyzed  her 
after  his  usual  custom,  while  he  chatted  with 
Mrs.  Butler. 

"A  cold  and  reserved  nature,"  he  thought, 
"devoid  of  woman's  usual  vanity,  proud  to 
the  verge  of  haughtiness,  not  susceptible  to 
ordinary  flattery  ;  and  she  has  never  loved. 
When  she  does— God  pity  the  man  ! " 

Percy  Durand  was  in  the  habit  of  regard 
ing  women,  as  students  of  the  floral  world 


MEETS     HER     FATE.  85 

regard  flowers,  and  he  botanized  them  in 
like  manner.  Many  years  ago,  he  had  ideal 
ized  the  sex ;  but  one  woman's  perfidy, 
together  with  the  vanity  and  selfishness  of 
many  others,  had  served  to  disillusion  him. 
Too  finely  fibered  to  ever  become  a  bitter- 
cynic,  he  was  simply  an  amused  skeptic  on 
the  subject  of  woman's  superiority  or  moral 
worth.  He  had  sought  the  world  over  for 
the  ideal  woman — that  mythical  personage 
of  his  early  dreams.  But  he  had  found  so 
much  envy,  jealousy,  and  selfishness  mar 
ring  the  sex  in  general,  he  had  discovered 
such  unsightly  blemishes  on  some  of  the 
most  seemingly  spotless  natures,  that  he 
abandoned  the  search  as  hopeless. 

"Not  a  marrying  man,"  his  friends  said, 
when  speaking  of  him.  Handsome,  eligible, 
and  the  junior  member  of  a  wealthy  New 
York  importing  house,  he  was  a  desirable 
conquest  for  anxious  damsels.  But  Percy 
Durand  seemed  either  too  heartless,  or  too 
selfish,  to  assume  the  role  of  Benedict. 

"My  cousin,  Mrs.  Phillips,  will  be  anx 
ious  to  know  particulars  concerning  you, 
Mrs.  Butler,"  he  said,  as  they  chatted 


86  THE     LOVELY     CYNIC 

together.  "Are  you  chaperoning  your  usual 
bevy  of  young  ladies  this  year  ? " 

"  Miss  King  has  been  my  only  charge  for 
nearly  four  years,"  Mrs.  Butler  answered, 
smiling.  "Five  years  ago,  she  joined  a 
party  of  twenty  young  ladies  under  my 
charge.  After  a  few  months,  she  decided  to 
remain  abroad,  and  easily  persuaded  me  to 
assume  the  position  of  companion  and  chap- 
erone.  We  have  led  a  delightful,  bohemiaii 
sort  of  existence  together.  A  year  in  Paris  ; 
winters  in  Borne,  Genoa,  Florence  ;  sum 
mers  in  Northern  Europe— in  fact,  journey 
ing  or  lingering  wherever  my  young  friend's 
impulses  led  her.  Just  now  we  are  en  route 
for  the  Paris  Exposition." 

"And  I  also,"  said  Percy,  "with  half  the 
world.  I  hope  you  have  engaged  rooms.  I 
fancy  there  will  be  a  great  rush,  and  much 
discomfort." 

"Miss  King  had  her  usual  apartments 
reserved  for  her.  She  left  them  all  furnished 
•when  we  went  to  Genoa.  I  hope  if  Nora — 
Mrs.  Phillips  I  should  say — comes  abroad, 
she  will  come  directly  to  us.  We  could  make 
her  very  comfortable,  could  we  not,  Dolores  ?" 


MEETS    HER    FATE.  87 

" Certainly,"  answered  Dolores.  "And 
I  should  be  pleased  to  meet  her.  Mrs.  Butler 
makes  me  almost  jealous  by  her  frequent 
references  to  your  cousin,  Mr.  Durand." 

"  You  are  very  kind  ;  but  Mrs.  Phillips  is 
not  coming  abroad  this  year.  She  is  kept  at 
home  by  her  two  children.  She  is  the  hap 
piest  wife  and  mother  I  ever  saw.  To  a 
man  of  my  skeptical  ideas  on  the  subject  of 
marriage,  the  occasional  sight  of  true  do 
mestic  happiness,  is  all  that  saves  me  from 
absolute  cynicism.  Whenever  I  am  tempted 
to  doubt  the  existence  of  that  congenial 
mating  of  two  souls,  of  which  we  read  so 
much,  and  see  so  little,  I  think  of  my  cousin, 
and  realize  that  it  does  exist,  at  least  in  one 
instance." 

Just  at  this  juncture,  Miss  King,  who  had 
begun  to  be  absorbed  in  a  book,  leaving 
the  two  friends  to  chat,  lifted  her  eyes  with 
a  slight  amused  smile  in  their  depths. 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  said,  "  but  how  long 
has  your  cousin  been  married  ?" 

."Four  years."  Percy  answered. 

u'Ah!  I  fancied  so.  You  see,  she  has 
hardly  yet  passed  beyond  the  experimental 


THE     LOVELY     CYNIC 


period,"  laughed  Dolores.  "  You  know 
the  serpent  did  not  enter  Paradise  until 
sometime  after  it  was  created.  But  he 
always  comes  in  one  shape  or  another,  and 
the  Eden  is  always  destroyed.  It  never 
lasts." 

"Now  you  have  touched  upon  Miss 
King's  hobby,  you  see,"  Mrs.  Butler  said,  in 
response  to  Percy's  surprised  look.  "  She  is 
the  most  absolute  cynic  on  the  subject  of 
love  and  marriage  which  the  world  contains, 
Mr.  Durand.  However,  I  live  in  hopes  of 
her  reformation.  You  know  when  unbe 
lievers  are  converted,  the  make  most  devout 
worshipers. " 

"I  shall  never  be  converted  from  my 
settled  convictions  on  this  subject,"  Miss 
King  replied,  good  naturedly.  "There  are 
people  who  are  only  fitted  for  a  life  of  per 
fect  freedom.  I  am  one  of  them/' 

"And  I,  Miss  King,  am  another  !"  added 
Percy.  "  A  more  confirmed  bachelor  never 
lived.  Marriage  seems  to  me  a  pitiful  bond 
age,  always  for  one,  often  for  both.  And  a 
happy  union  is  merely  a  fortunate  accident. ' 


MEETS     HER     FATE 


Whenever  I  hear  the  ringing  of  marriage 
bells,  I  think  with  Byron,  that 

*  Each  stroke  peals  for  a  hope  the  less — the  funeral 

note 

Of  love  deep  buried  without  resurrection 
In  the  grave  of  possession.' '? 

A  smile  that  warmed  her  features  like  a 
burst  of  sunlight  illumined  Miss  King's 
lovely  face. 

"  I  am  sure  we  should  agree  famously  on 
this  subject,  at  least,  Mr.  Durand,"  she  said. 
"It  is  seldom  I  meet  a  gentleman  whose 
ideas  accord  so  perfectly  with  my  own." 

"You  are  two  foolish  children,"  inter 
posed  Mrs.  Butler,  "and  your  ideas  are 
quite  too  extreme.  Marriage  is  not  the 
wretched  bondage  you  describe  it.  Some 
one  has  said  very  truthfully,  '  If  nothing  is 
perfect  in  this  world,  marriage  is  perhaps 
the  best  thing  amid  much  evil.  If  a  fickle 
husband  goes,  he  returns  :  but  the  lover — 
once  gone  he  never  returns.'  I  am  sure,  Mr. 
Duraiid,  that  you  would  make  some  woman 
an  excellent  husband. " 


90  THE     LOVELY     CYNIC 

Percy  shook  his  head.  "That  is  because 
you  do  not  know  me,"  he  replied.  "  What 
ever  my  nature  was  originally,  my  experi 
ences  in  the  world  have  left  me  incapable  of 
unselfish  devotion,  or  absorbing  love." 

"Oh,  oh  !"  cried  Mrs.  Butler,  "  I  will  not 
hoar  you  so  malign  yourself.  Any  man  who 
was  so  kind  as  you  were  to  your  cousin, 
must  have  a  heart.." 

"  Perhaps  I  had.  once  upon  a  time.  But 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  frittering  away  one's 
best  emotions.  Certainly,  now,  I  cannot 
imagine  a  woman  so  good,  so  beautiful,  or 
so  endowed  with  graces,  that  I  should  wish 
to  mako  her  my  wife.  If  I  did,  I  know  her 
goodness  would  be  a  reproach  to  me,  her 
beauty  would  pall  upon  me,  and  her  con 
stancy  would  irritate  me.  And  yet,  the 
absence  of  any  of  these  qualities  would  dis 
please  me.  So  you  see  I  am  better  off  single. 
I  think  my  cousin  considers  me  a  good  sort 
of  relative  !  I  am  sure  I  am  faithful  in  my 
friendships  :  but  the  requisites  of  a  desirable 
husband,  I  do  not  possess.  Besides,  begging 
the  pardon  of  both  my  lady  listeners,  I  must 
say,  while  I  have  so  little  faith  in  myself,  I 


MEETS     HER     FATE.  91 

have  even  less  in  womankind.  I  do  not  care 
to  risk  my  future  in  the  hands  of  an  unreli 
able  woman." 

"A  man  of  your  experience  and  judg 
ment  would  not  be  apt  to  make  that  error," 
Mrs.  Butler  replied.  "And  women  are  pro 
verbially  faithful  by  nature,  you  know- 
even  clinging  to  the  men  who  maltreat 
them." 

"  Judgment  and  experience  are  not  of  the 
slightest  use  in  selecting  a  wife  or  husband," 
responded  Percy.  u  First,  because  it  is  only 
in  the  daily  intimacies  of  constant  compan 
ionship  that  we  can  learn  another's  peculiar 
ities  ;  and  secondly— in  the  case  of  the 
woman,  at  least — the  maiden  and  wife  are 
two  distinct  beings.  I  have  seen  the  most 
amiable  and  charming  girl  develope  into  a 
veritable  Xantippe  of  a  wife.  Then,  as  for 
the  proverbial  faithfulness  of  woman — it  is 
the  poet's  idea  of  the  sex,  I  know,  but  it  is 
not  verified  in  reality.  Women  are  quite  as 
faulty  as  men,  and  even  more  easily  assailed 
by  temptation.  But  they  are  more  discreet, 
and  make  a  greater  show  of  good  qualities 


92  THE     LOVELY     CYNIC. 

than  we  do.  Men  boast  of  their  infidelities, 
women  conceal  them." 

"Rouen!"  shouted  the  guard,  flinging 
open  the  door  of  the  compartment. 

u  Impossible  !"  cried  Percy,  springing  up 
— "  and  I  am  obliged  to  stop  here  !  This  is 
altogether  too  bad.  But  I  hope  you  will 
kindly  send  your  address  to  me  at  the  Grand 
Hotel,  where  I  shall  register  next  week.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  be  of  any  service  to  you  I 
can,  during  my  few  weeks  in  Paris." 

And  with  that  inimitable  grace  of  the 
polished  New  Yorker,  Percy  bowed  himself 
from  the  presence  of  the  ladies. 

And  the  first  chapter  was  written  in  a 
romance  which  was  to  end  in  a  tragedy. 


SWEET    DANGER. 


93 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SWEET  DANGER. 

Y  DEAR,"  said  Mrs.  Butler,  one 
morning  at  the  breakfast  table, 
ten  days  later,  as  she  looked  up 
from  her  letters  to  the  vision  of 
blonde  loveliness  opposite,  "here  is  a  note 
from  Mr.  Durand — the  American  gentleman 
we  met,  you  remember.  He  is  in  Paris,  and 
wishes  to  call." 

"  That  is   pleasant    news,"   Dolores  an 
swered,  smiling,  uand  I  hope  you  will  for 
ward  our  united  permission  and  compliments 
by  return  mail." 

"  Really,  Dolores,  you  quite  astonish 
me  ! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Butler.  "  When  were 
you  ever  known  to  be  so  amiably  disposed 
toward  any  gentleman  before  ?  What  spell 
has  Mr.  Durand  exercised  over  you,  I  won 
der?" 


SWEET    DANGER. 


"The  spell  of  sincerity  and  good  sense  !" 
responded  Dolores,  as  she  sipped  her  coffee. 
"  Two  virtues  so  rare  in  mankind  that  it  is 
no  wonder  if  they  left  an  indelible  impres 
sion  upon  me.  Mr.  Durand  is,  almost  with 
out  exception,  the  only  gentleman  I  have 
met  since  my  uncle  died  who  did  not  feel  it 
his  duty  to  express,  in  words  or  manner,  a 
disbelief  in  the  sincerity  of  my  views  con 
cerning  marriage.  You  very  well  know, 
Mrs.  Butler,  how  discouraging  have  been  my 
attempts  at  friendship  with  the  opposite  sex, 
owing  to  this  fact." 

"Owing  to  your  own  charms,  rather," 
Mrs.  Butler  corrected,  "  and  to  your  hatred 
for  the  sex.  Men  are  not  easily  satisfied 
with  the  cold  indifference  which  you  term 
friendship  of  a  woman  as  fair  as  yourself." 

"But  I  am  not  cold  or  indifferent  to 
those  who  treat  my  opinions  with  respect," 
Dolores  insisted.  "And  I  am  not  a  man- 
hater.  I  would  like  the  companionship 
of  men  right  well.  I  enjoy  their  society 
more  than  I  enjoy  the  society  of  most 
women.  They  have  broader  views  ;  they  get 
outside  of  themselves  far  more  than  women 


SWEET    DANGER.  95 


do  ;  they  dwell  less  in  their  own  emotions  ; 
and  are,  consequently,  more  interesting. 
Bnt  the  selfishness,  conceit  and  sensuality 
of  men  render  them  impossible  friends  for 
unprotected  women." 

"  You  must  not  include  all  men  in  that 
sweeping  sarcasm,  Dolores.  There  are  ex 
ceptions." 

"Possibly.  I  hope  Mr.  Durand  is  one. 
I  speak  of  men  as  I  have  found  them.  You 
remember  Clarence  Walker,  and  how  posi 
tive  I  was  that  I  had  found  a  loyal  friend  in 
him  ?  And  you  know  the  result." 

44  Yes;  he  became  madly  in  love  with 
you.  I  do  not  see  how  either  of  those  three 
condemnatory  terms  apply  to  him,  how 
ever.  " 

"  But  I  do.  Since  he  knew  from  the 
outset  my  firm  resolve  to  never  marry,  he 
ought  not  to  have  allowed  himself  to  think 
of  me  as  a  possible  wife.  But  in  his  mascu 
line  conceit  he  really  believed  he  could  over 
come  the  principles  of  a  lifetime.  Each  man 
considers  himself  the  Prince  Charming,  who 
holds  the  key  to  the  enchanted  palace  of  a 
woman's  heart.  Positively,  the  vanity  of 


96  SWEET    DANGER. 


the  sterner  sex  is  colossal  in  its  magnitude. 
Then,  you  know,  there  was  Count  D'Estey, 
with  his  really  charming  sister  and  pictur 
esque  mother.  You  remember  my  experi 
ence  with  him  ? " 

"Certainly.  He  imagined  you  to  be 
much  wealthier  than  you  are,  my  dear  ;  and 
your  fortune  and  your  beauty  were  great 
temptations.  It  is  no  wonder  he  made  an 
effort  to  win  you.  Foreign  counts  are  born 
to  be  supported  by  American  heiresses." 

"And  he  ruined  three  delightful  friend 
ships  by  the  futile  effort.  Yet  that  was 
the  selfishness  of  the  man's  nature.  Last  of 
all,  you  know  the  result  of  my  acquaintance 
with  General  Veddars  ?  " 

"Pardon  me  ;  but  I  do  not.  I  only  know 
that  you  returned  from  their  country  seat 
unexpectedly,  joined  me  in  London,  and 
never  referred  to  the  subject  of  your 
acquaintance  with  the  family  again.  I  con 
fess  that  I  have  often  wondered  what  occur 
red  to  break  up  the  intimacy  which  seemed 
so  pleasant  at  one  time." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you  what  hap 
pened/'  answered  Dolores,  with  fine  scorn 


SWEET    DANGER.  97 

in  her  face  and  voice.  "  Because  I  was  out 
spoken  and  frank  upon  the  subject  of  mar 
riage,  because  I  repeatedly  declared  that  I 
should  never  be  the  wife  of  any  man,  Gen 
eral  Veddars,  it  seems,  imagined  I  was 
utterly  lacking  in.  mental  and  moral  balance. 
At  all  events,  he  forgot  himself — forgot  that 
he  was  old  enough  •  to  be  my  father,  and 
that  his  wife  was  my  devoted  friend  ;  and 
he  embarrassed  me  with  his  attentions.  Is 
it  any  wonder  that  I  left  his  house,  angry, 
shocked,  and  with  a  greater  contempt  for 
men  and  husbands  than  ever  ? " 

Mrs.  Butler  shook  her  head.  "  There  is 
no  object  in  life  more  disgusting,"  she  said, 
"than  a  man  who  carries  the  fires  of  an 
unlicensed  youth  into  old  age.  I  confess 
you  have  good  cause  to  feel  disappointed  in 
your  masculine  friends.  Let  us  hope  that 
Mr.  Durand  will  prove  a  success.  One  thing 
is  certain — he  comes  of  an  excellent  family  ; 
and  he  bears  the  best  of  reputations  among 
men,  and  while  he  is  not  a  ladies'  man,  he  is 
very  popular  with  our  sex." 

Dolores  laughed  lightly. 

"  The  fact  that  his  family  is  excellent, 
5 


98  SWEET    DANGER. 

does  not  necessarily  speak  well  for  him/5 
she  said.  "  Many  a  low  rascal  on  earth 
boasts  of  his  noble  ancestors  under  ground. 
And  that  he  bears  the  best  of  reputations 
among  men,  is  no  proof  that  he  may  not  be 
the  worst  companion  possible  for  a  woman. 
I  am  relieved  to  hear  you  say  that  he  is  not 
a  ladies'  man.  That  term  always  suggests 
to  me  a  frivolous  nature,  something  even 
more  intolerable  in  a  man  than  a  woman. 
But  really,  ma  cliere,  we  are  devoting  more 
time  to  the  discussion  of  this  stranger,  than 
is  profitable.  If  we  are  to  see  the  World's 
Fair  in  detail,  as  we  have  determined, 
allons  d  V  Exhibition" 

A  few  hours  later,  as  the  two  ladies 
sauntered  under  the  gorgeous  Oriental  cano 
pies  known  as  the  "  India  House,"  they 
came  face  to  face  with  the  very  subject 
of  their  morning  dissertation — Mr.  Percy 
Durand. 

They  exchanged  cordial  greetings,  and  it 
seemed  to  Mrs.  Butler  that  a  tint  as  delicate 
as  the  first  faint  hue  of  dawn,  colored  the 
creamy  pallor  of  Dolores  cheek. 

"I  wonder  what  it  means?"  she  asked 


SWEET    DANGER.  99 


herself,  "  Marriage  no  doubt,  that  final 
Nirvana  which  covers  so  many  theorists 
with  oblivion.  Heaven  speed  the  wooing  !" 

At  the  same  time  Percy  was  thinking, 
"  How  delightful  to  meet  a  lovely  and  com 
panionable  girl  who  is  entirely  free  to 
receive  your  polite  attentions,  and  whom 
you  positively  know  expects  and  desires 
nothing  more  from  you.  It  gives  a  fellow 
such  a  comfortable  sensation." 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  Mr,  Durand  had, 
several  times  in  his  life,  been  obliged  to  flee 
from  designing  Mammas,  and  too  willing 
maidens,  we  can  forgive  his  somewhat 
egotistical  soliloquy. 

Dolores  felt  an  agreeable  sense  of  being 
perfectly  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Durand,  and  rendered  herself  unusually 
charming.  Percy  sauntered  by  the  ladies 
while  they  visited  various  departments,  and 
they  finally  lunched  together.  Both  he  and 
Dolores  were  gifted  with  refined  wit,  and 
ready  powers  of  repartee,  and  Mrs.  Butler 
was  an  appreciative  listener  to  their  gay 
sallies  and  bright  criticisms. 

"  Positively  I  feel  as  if  I  had  known  both 


100  SWEET    DANGER. 


of  you  ladies  all  my  life  !"  Percy  said,  as  the 
day  wore  on.  "  It  would  require  months, 
or  years,  in  our  own  land  to  arrive  at  this 
pleasant  feeling  of  comradeship.  There  is 
nothing  like  a  rencontre  in  a  foreign  coun 
try,  to  break  the  ice  of  reserve." 

"Quite  true,"  Mrs.  Butler  responded. 
"  We  enjoy  each  other's  society  better  here, 
too,  I  think,  because  we  all  indulge  the  vein 
of  Bohemianism  which  exists  in  us,  and 
which  we  carefully  hide  from  view  at  home. 
For  instance  :  I  met  a  party  of  staid  and 
respectable  men  and  matrons  from  Boston 
the  other  day.  They  had  just  paid  a  visit 
to  the  Mabille.  '  A  very  wicked  place,'  they 
said;  '  yet  everybody  seems  to  go,  so  we 
went.'  These  same  people  would  no  sooner 
visit  a  concert  garden  in  America  then  they 
would  deliberately  walk  into  Purgatory." 

"I  could  relate  similar  experiences,"  was 
Percy's  laughing  rejoinder.  "When  I  first 
came  abroad  I  was  accompanied  by  a  very 
devout  young  man.  He  had  often  taken 
me  to  task  for  my  Club  habits.  '  A  fashion 
able  club  is  the  ante-room  to  a  gambler's 
hell,'  he  said  ;  and  so  far  as  I  knew,  he  lived 


SWEET    DANGER.  101 


up  to  the  rigorous  code  of  morals  he 
preached  to  others.  What  was  my  amaze 
ment  to  find  his  curiosity  fairly  unsatiable 
in  regard  to  the  wicked  side  of  Parisian  life. 

"  Beautiful  parks,  fine  operas,  and  grand 
cathedrals  and  works  of  art,  were  all  neg 
lected  by  him,  until  he  had  explored,  to  his 
satisfaction,  all  the  gaming-houses  and 
variety  theatres  in  the  city  of  Paris.  It  was 
very  amusing." 

When  Percy  made  his  adieux  to  the 
ladies  it  was  with  the  understanding  that  he 
should  dine  with  them  at  their  temporary 
home,  on  the  Avenue  Josephine,  the  follow 
ing  afternoon,  and  escort  them  to  the  theatre 
in  the  evening. 

4 '  Never  before,  Dolores,"  said  Mrs.  But 
ler,  after  Percy  had  taken  his  departure, 
' '  did  I  see  you  so  charming  as  you  have 
been  to-day.  Mr.  Durand  will  be  a  phe 
nomenal  sort  of  man  if  he  remains  impervi 
ous  to  your  charms,  my  dear.  But  then  I 
have  heard  that  some  affair  in  his  early  life 
quite  wrecked  his  heart.  And  so,  I  suppose, 
he  has  nothing  but  friendship  to  give  any 
woman,  now." 


102  SWEET    DANGER. 

If  Mrs.  Butler's  secret  wish  was  to  rouse 
the  woman  desire  (latent  in  almost  every 
feminine  heart),  to  strive  for  that  which  is 
supposed  to  be  unattainable,  it  signally 
failed.  Her  remark  simply  gave  Dolores  an 
added  sense  of  freedom  and  rest  in  Mr. 
Durand's  society.  "Love  is  like  measles," 
she  reasoned — "not  liable  to  occur  the 
second  time." 

Meanwhile  Percy  was  saying  to  himself  : 

"  She  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  her 
sex.  She  pleases  the  eye,  and  entertains  the 
mind,  without  touching  the  heart. 

"  Yet,  it  is  a  dangerous  situation  for  any 
man  to  assume — this  role  of  intimate  friend 
to  a  lovely  woman,  which  seems  suddenly 
to  have  fallen  to  me.  It  would  be  wisdom 
011  my  part,  and  save  no  end  of  trouble, 
probably,  if  I  took  refuge  in  flight  at  once." 

Yet  what  man  ever  fled  from  such  sweet 
danger  ? 


JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS.  103 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JOURNALISTIC  DISCUSSIONS. 

ERCY   did  not  "fly"  for   another 
month,  and  during  that  time  sel 
dom  a  day  passed  that  he  did  not 
spend  a  portion  of  it  with  Mrs. 
Butler  and  Dolores. 

To  the  artistic  rooms  on  the  Avenue 
Josephine,  where  he  was  made  to  feel  so 
perfectly  at  home,  he  sometimes  brought  a 
friend,  and  often  found  a  bevy  of  bright 
people  when  he  arrived. 

Dolores  had  formed  a  choice  circle  of 
acquaintances  among  the  artists,  musicians, 
and  scholars,  during  her  prolonged  sojourn 
abroad. 

It  seemed  to  Percy  that  he  had  never 
in  his  entire  life  before,  met  so  many  charm 
ing  people  as  he  encountered  under  Dolores's 
roof  in  that  one  month.  There  was  as  great 
a  difference  between  the  conventional  society 


104  JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS. 

to  which  he  had  been  accustomed,  and  the 
interesting  clique  which  graced  Dolores's  par 
lors,  as  there  is  between  a  hotel  bill  of  fare, 
and  the  menu  prepared  for  the  palate  of 
an  epicure.  One,  monotonous  insipid  and 
flavorless  ;  the  other,  spiced,  appetizing  and 
varied. 

Among  the  score  of  people  whom  Dol 
ores  gathered  together  under  her  roof,  there 
was  a  Mr.  Elliott,  a  young  English  artist,  a 
clever,  cultured  fellow,  though  something  of 
a  cockney  ;  Monsieur  Thore,  a  famed  his 
torian  and  legislator  ;  Madame  Volkenberg, 
a  middle-aged  widow  of  a  German,  pro 
fessor,  a  lady  of  vast  experience  and  wide 
culture,  whose  conversation  overflowed  with 
interesting  reminiscences ;  and  Homer  Or- 
ton,  an  American  journalist,  genius  and  wit. 

Nowhere  else,  in  no  other  class  or  profes 
sion,  can  be  found  so  much  talent,  and  so 
much  wit,  as  exists  among  our  American 
journalists,  however  they  bury  the  former, 
and  misdirect  the  latter  gift. 

With  a  better  understanding  of  ' '  noblesse 
oblige"  with  a  little  more  delicacy  refining 
their  wit,  with  a  great  deal  more  reverence 


JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS.  105 

for  the  sacredness  of  homes  and  personalities, 
to  what  heights  might  not  these  peerless 
minds  elevate  American  journalism  ? 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Elliott,  one 
evening  in  Percy's  presence,  addressing  the 
journalist,  "do  you  know,  Mr.  Orton,  you 
have  greatly  surprised  me  ?" 

"  Quite  likely,"  responded  Homer  Orton, 
soberly  gazing  at  his  English  friend.  "  We 
American  have  always  been  surprising  you 
Englishmen  ever  since  —  but  never  mind 
dates.  I  should  really  like  to  know  in  what 
especial  manner  I  have  surprised  you,  Mr. 
Elliott  rr 

"Well,  in  fact — now  I  beg  you  will  not 
be  offended,  but  in  the  fact  that  you  are  such 
a  deuced  fine  fellow,  you  know.  I  had  quite 
another  impression  of  American  newspaper 
men.  I  fancied  you  would  not  be  admitted 
to  such  society  as  this — that  you  were  all 
fellows  who  would  sacrifice  your  best  friends 
for  an  item,  you  know — " 

"So  we  would — that  is,  most  of  us," 
Homer  interrupted,  gravely.  "I  am  a  rare 
and  beautiful  exception." 

"And  I  thought  you  were  hardly  the  sort 

5* 


106  JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS. 

of  person  a  lady  like  Miss  King  would  want 
in  her  home,  you  know,"  the  Englishman 
continued.  "  But  I  find  you  really  a  delight 
ful  fellow,  you  know,  and  quite  a  gentle 
man." 

"Sir,"  said  Homer,  rising  with  his  hand 
upon  his  heart,  "language  fails  me  before  a 
compliment  like  this.  It  is  a  new  and  try 
ing  position  for  me  to  hear  such  words 
spoken  of  myself,  and  I  hope  you  will  excuse 
me  while  I  walk  to  another  part  of  the  room 
and  unobserved  wipe  away  a  tear  of  grati 
tude." 

Then,  suddenly  dropping  his  tone  of  lev 
ity,  the  young  man  continued  : 

"But,  seriously  speaking,  you  are  justi 
fied  in  your  opinion  of  us  as  a  class,  Mr. 
Elliott,  and  it  is  to  be  regretted.  As  Mr. 
Durand  will  testify,  our  American  eagle 
flaps  his  wings  often  with  too  much  free 
dom." 

Percy,  when  appealed  to,  was  glad  to 
express  his  opinion  upon  a  subject  to  which 
he  had  recently  given  much  thought. 

" It  is  a  question,"  he  said,  "which  must 
before  many  years  be  decided — just  where 


JOURNALISTIC     DISCUSSIONS.  107 


the  freedom  of  the  press  should  end  and 
where  the  rights  of  individuals  should  begin. 
It  seems  to  me  that  even  our  so-called  best 
newspapers  take  unnecessary  and  unlicensed 
liberties  in  these  days." 

* i  But  the  public  appetite  demands  such  a 
varied  and  highly- spiced  diet  that  we  are 
obliged  to  gratify  it  in  every  legitimate  man 
ner  possible.  If  we  do  not,  our  rival  sheet 
will,"  explained  Homer  Orton. 

"  That  is  all  very  well  when  you  keep  to 
legitimate  means.  But  I  call  the  invasion  of 
homes,  and  the  cruel,  and  often  untruthful, 
assertions  concerning  the  private  life,  of  un 
offending  individuals,  illegitimate  means  of 
feeding  a  depraved  appetite.  The  average 
newspaper  humorist,  who  utterly  disregards 
the  truth,  in  his  anxiety  to  concoct  a  taking 
item,  I  do  not  consider  a  necessary  feature 
of  high  journalism — do  you  ?  If  he  only 
succeeds  in  raising  a  laugh,  he  considers  his 
object  in  life  attained.  He  reminds  me  of 
the  tribe  of  the  Damaras,  who  are  described 
as  so  utterly  heartless  that  they  roar  with 
laughter  on  beholding  one  of  their  number 
torn  to  pieces  by  a  wild  beast." 


108  JOURNALISTIC     DISCUSSIONS. 


1  i  Still  it  is  not  so  much  heartlessness,  as 
insensibility  and  thoughtlessness,  and  a  de 
sire  to  be  bright  and  witty,  which  causes  a 
good  many  of  these  things  to  be  written," 
Homer  responded. 

"  I  heard  that  very  excuse,  advanced 
only  the  other  day,"  Percy  replied,  "  and  I 
heard  this  response  made  which  is  quite 
apropos  now.  It  has  been  observed  by 
thoughtful  naturalists  that  often  when  a 
lion  or  a  bull  kills  a  man,  the  poor  beast 
really  has  no  malice  in  his  heart,  and  does 
not  mean  any  harm.  He  only  intended  to 
play  with  his  accidental  comrade  of  the 
moment.  But  then  a  lion  has  only  claws 
and  a  bull  only  horns  with  which  to  make 
their  humor  felt,  and  so  they  are  fatally  mis 
understood.  It  would  seem  to  me,  then, 
that  the  chief  of  a  large  newspaper  ought  to 
consider  himself  as  responsible  for  those 
accidents  as  the  keeper  of  a  menagerie." 

u  But  often  the  chief  of  a  first-class  news 
paper  has  no  idea  of  the  really  scurrilous 
items  which  creep  into  his  paper,"  explained 
Homer.  ' '  Like  the  chief  cook  in  a  large 
hotel,  he  cannot  taste  of  every  dish  pre- 


JOURNALISTIC     DISCUSSIONS.  109 

pared  by  his  subordinates,  and  no  manag 
ing  editor  could  survive  the  strain,  you 
know,  of  looking  over  his  humorist's  column 
every  day.  Our  madhouses  would  over 
flow,  if  such  a  method  of  journalism  were 
inaugurated." 

"Still,  it  is  a  lax  system  which  permits 
such  errors  (if  we  can  call  them  errors) 
to  occur,"  Percy  insisted,  "and  if  guests 
were  constantly  being  poisoned  or  rendered 
ill  through  the  criminal  carelessness  of  the 
hotel  cook,  I  fancy  he  would  be  called 
to  account  for  not  knowing  what  dishes 
his  subordinates  prepared.  A  newspaper 
should  be  the  friend  and  companion  of  the 
people,  and  a  welcome  guest  in  every  home. 
Instead,  it  is  too  often  a  treacherous  spy,  a 
maligner  and  falsifier.  Almost  every  day 
we  read  statements  concerning  people,  which 
are  absolutely  without  foundation,  and  which 
result  in  no  end  of  mischief  and  trouble. " 

"You  no  doubt  refer  to  people  in  public 
life — politicians,  authors,  actors,  and  the 
like — do  you  not  ? "  asked  Homer.  "  I  know 
they  are  considered  targets  for  the  shots  of 
our  humorists  all  over  the  country,  but  then 


110  JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS. 

you  must  remember  that  if  a  man  gives  his 
name  voluntarily  to  the  world,  and  forces 
his  work  or  his  personality  upon  the  public, 
that  he  cannot  expect  both  the  benefits  of 
fame  and  the  seclusion  of  private  life.  It  is 
unreasonable.  He  has  in  a  measure  given 
himself  over  to  the  public,  and  he  must  take 
the  consequences.  And,  really,  the  fact  that 
the  busy  newspapers  of  the  present  day  give 
time  and  space  to  discussion  or  comments 
upon  any  individual  ought  to  be  considered 
highly  complimentary." 

"  That  depends  entirely  upon  the  nature 
of  the  comments,"  answered  Percy.  "Nor 
do  I  refer  entirely  to  public  people.  Our 
wealthy  men,  and  their  wives  and  daughters, 
are  subjected  to  the  same  coarse  comments. 
Their  personal  defects  are  ridiculed,  and  the 
pitiless  and  ghastly  electric  light  of  public 
ity  is  turned  on  their  most  sacred  joys  or 
sorrows.  Items  devoid  of  truth  and  wit, 
appear  every  day  concerning  people  who 
have  committed  no  offense  greater  than  to 
succeed  in  some  special  calling.  They  are 
copied,  enlarged  upon,  and  believed  by  a 
majority  of  the  masses.  It  is  a  degenerate 


JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS.  HI 

system  of  journalism  which  permits  it.  It 
is  high  time  some  manly  journalist  began 
a  crusade  against  it." 

"I  agree  with  you,  perfectly,"  Homer 
Orton  answered.  ' '  I  would  like  to  have  the 
leading  newspapers  of  the  country  band 
together  to  protect  the  people  from  insult 
and  petty  libels  in  their  columns  :  and  I 
would  like  to  see  the  Imaginary  Interviewer 
done  away  with  by  every  respectable  jour 
nal." 

"  What  is  the  Imaginary  Interviewer, 
pray  ?"  queried  the  Englishman. 

"  He  is  a  reporter,  who,  if  he  is  refused 
admittance  by  any  person  he  wishes  to  inter 
view,  deliberately  invents  an  interview ; 
describes  the  personality  and  manufactures 
the  conversation  to  suit  his  own  taste. 
No  one  was  ever  more  misused  in  this 
respect  than  your  own  Oscar  Wilde,  unless 
it  was  Mrs.  Langtry.  The  most  astound 
ing  postures  and  inane  remarks  were  attri 
buted  to  them  by  people  who  never  saw 
them.  It  is  not,  however,  our  first-class 
journals  which  have  permitted  this." 

"  Would  you  not  recommend  the  abolish- 


112  JOURNALISTIC     DISCUSSIONS. 

ing  of  the  interviewer  entirely  ?"  suggested 
Percy. 

"  Certainly  not,"  Homer  responded. 
"  The  newspaper  interviewer  is  a  benefit  to 
the  press,  to  the  country,  and  to  all  public 
people  who  have  a  name  and  a  reputation  to 
make.  That  is,  when  he  is  a  truthful  gen 
tleman,  and  does  not  abuse  the  hospitality 
of  those  who  admit  him  to  their  homes. " 

"The  school-girl  who  sends  for  the  auto 
graph  of  a  public  man  pays  him  a  graceful 
compliment,  and  he  should  write  it  for  her 
without  a  murmur." 

"  Just  in  the  same  way,  the  whole  pub 
lic  offers  a  quiet  ovation  to  the  man  of 
reputation  when  an  interviewer  presents  his 
card.  The  newspaper  would  never  ask  for 
an  interview  to  publish,  unless  the  masses 
of  its  readers  desired  it.  And.  the  inter 
viewer  should  be  met  courteously,  and  the 
public  man  should  realize  that  this  sort  of 
thing  is  the  duty  he  pays  on  fame.  If  he 
has  positively  nothing  of  interest  to  say  to 
the  interviewer,  or  is  too  busily  engaged  to 
be  interrupted,  he  should  tell  the  caller  so 
in  a  respectful  and  polite  manner.  Many 


JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS.  113 

a  public  man  is  badly  treated  by  the  reporter 
in  print,  because  he  treated  the  reporter 
badly  in  his  house." 

"  But  what  have  you  to  say  of  the  inter 
viewer  who  is  well  treated,  and  then  repays 
the  hospitality  he  has  received  by  an  article 
bristling  with  ridicule  and  untruthful  mis 
representations  of  the  personality  or  conver 
sation  of  his  entertainer  ?  I  have  known 
this  to  occur." 

"I  do  not  believe  it  occurs  very  of  ten," 
Homer  answered.  "  When  it  does,  there  is 
usually  personal  malice  at  the  bottom  of  it, 
or  a  catering  to  the  lowest  order  of  scurri 
lous  journalism.  It  is  a  great  pity  that  the 
victims  in  such  cases  have  no  dignified 
redress.  A  thorough  caning  ought  to  be 
considered  consistent  with  the  situation. 
But,  I  think,  as  a  rule,  respectable  news 
paper  men  endeavor  to  do  the  right  thing 
by  those  who  have  treated  them  with  cour 
tesy  in  this  matter.  The  trouble  is,  jour 
nals  are  not  careful  enough  in  the  repre 
sentatives  they  send  on  these  commissions. 
It  requires  a  great  deal  of  delicate  tact  to 
write  acceptably  of  a  man's  home-life  and 


114  JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS. 

personality  during  his  life-time.  No  thought 
less  boy,  or  sensation-seeking  reporter, 
should  be  commissioned  with  such  a  task. 
I  positively  know  a  New  York  journalist, 
who  possesses  a  bright  mind  and  wonderful 
command  of  language  beside  an  easy  and 
elegant  deportment,  who  considers  it  fair 
play  to  gain  information  through  private  let 
ters  or  confidential  conversations  with  his 
friends,  and  then  to  use  such  knowledge  for 
press  purposes.  He  boasts  of  his  skill  in  this 
respect." 

"  Impossible  !"  cried  Percy,  indignantly. 

"  Quite  too  possible,"  Homer  replied. 
"  His  devotion  to  journalism,  and  his  desire 
to  feed  the  public  appetite,  has  destroyed 
every  particle  of  moral  principle  the  fellow 
ever  possessed.  Of  course,  such  a  man  re 
flects  discredit  upon  the  whole  profession. 
That  he  is  an  exception  to  the  rule,  I  know, 
but  that  he  is  retained  at  all  upon  a  respect 
able  journal,  is  to  be  regretted." 

"  There  is  still  another  feature  of  Ameri 
can  journalism  to  be  more  regretted  and 
blushed  for,  I  think,"  said  Percy.  "  That  is, 
the  attitude  of  our  so  called  humorists  and 


JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS.  H5 

paragraphers  toward  public  women.  No 
where  else  in  the  world  do  women  occupy  so 
exhalted  and  honored  a  position  as  they 
occupy  in  America.  No  other  women  in  the 
world  have  accomplished  so  much  in  various 
public  callings.  Yet  no  where  else  are  they 
subjected  to  such  insults  as  they  receive 
from  the  newspapers  throughout  the  United 
States,  from  the  prima  donna  to  the  Presi 
dent's  wife,  sister,  or  daughter." 

"Are  you  not  a  little  extreme  in  that 
statement,  Mr.  Durand?"  asked  Homer 
Orton.  "You  must  recollect  that  the  royal 
family  are  discussed  very  freely  in  print, 
and  ladies  who  have  become  famous  ought 
to  consider  themselves  members  of  the  royal 
family  of  Genius,  and  take  newspaper  criti 
cisms  as  a  natural  consequence." 

"It  is  not  newspaper  criticisms  to  which 
I  refer,"  answered  Percy.  "Of  course,  half 
the  success  of  an  actress,  a  singer,  an  author 
or  a  painter  depends  upon  public  criticism, 
and  often  it  happens  that  the  severer  the 
criticisms  the  greater  the  success.  But  it  is 
the  loose  familiarity  and  the  coarse  jests  of 
the  item-seeker  of  which  I  speak.  Only  last 


116  JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS. 

week  I  saw  a  wretched  little  item,  intended 
to  be  humorous,  but  actually  brutal,  going 
the  rounds  of  the  press,  concerning  the 
advanced  years  of  a  famous  opera  singer,  a 
woman  who  has  reflected  credit  on  our 
nation  by  her  brilliant  and  stainless  career." 

"I  saw  the  item  to  which  you  refer,"  Mr. 
Elliott  said,  "and  I  wondered  if  it  "was  con 
sistent  with  the  National  boast  that  Amer 
icans  are  the  kindest  and  most  thought 
ful  men  in  the  world  toward  ladies.  It 
seemed  to  me  an  uncalled-for  and  ungentle- 
manly  incivility  toward  a  noble  lady." 

"I  of  ten  wonder,"  continued  Percy,  "if 
the  fellows  who  perpetrate  those  things  stop 
and  consider  that  the  public  women,  whose 
names  they  use  so  freely,  are  somebody's 
sisters,  wives,  or  mothers,  and  that,  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  they  lead  a  public 
life,  or  first  entered  a  public  career,  to  earn 
a  living.  If  the  newspaper  men  of  the  coun 
try  ever  do  take  this  view  of  the  matter,  I 
should  think  their  first  impulse  would  be  to 
shield  and  protect  and  help  every  self-sup 
porting  woman  in  the  land.  At  all  events, 
I  should  think  every  sensible  journalist 


JOURNALISTIC    DISCUSSIONS.  H7 

would  realize  that,  while  it  is  the  province  of 
the  newspaper  to  furnish  able  criticism  on 
the  voice  of  the  singer,  the  book  of  the 
author,  the  speech  of  the  orator,  it  is  not 
its  province  to  indulge  in  poor  puns,  or  in 
sulting  comments  on  the  age,  the  per 
sonal  defects,  or  the  domestic  life  of  the 
singer,  author  or  speaker.  These  things 
should  be  tabooed  by  respectable  journals, 
just  as  they  are  tabooed  in  respectable 
society.  Our  journalists  should  be  as  care 
ful,  in  their  references  to  the  private  matters 
of  individuals  in  print,  as  they  are  in  conver 
sation  in  their  parlors,  where  scandalous  or 
impertinent  references  to  the  absent  would 
be  considered  'bad  form.'  Really,  I  do  not 
understand  how  any  of  us  who  read  the 
daily  papers  dare  boast  of  American  chiv 
alry." 

"  The  chivalry  of  the  average  man,"  said 
Dolores,  who  approached  the  group  just  at 
this  moment,  "  consists  in  protecting  a 
woman  against  every  man  save  himself. 
And  now,  gentlemen,  we  are  to  have  a  reci 
tation  from  Madame  Volkenberg.  Will  you 
join  us  and  listen  ? " 


118  A    DISCOURSE    ON    SUICIDE. 


CHAPTER   X. 

A  DISCOURSE  ON  SUICIDE. 

NE  day  Mrs.  Butler,  Dolores,  Percy, 
and  several  of  their  friends  went 
to   visit  the  Latin   Quarter  — the 
ancient  homes  of  the  Grisettes — 
a  race  rapidly  becoming  extinct. 

* '  I  have  always  wanted  to  visit  this 
locality,"  Dolores  said  on  her  way  thither. 
4 'It  is  a  phase  of  Parisian  life  which  has 
possessed  a  curious  fascination  for  me." 

4 'No  doubt  you  have  surrounded  the 
Grisettes  with  a  halo  of  romance,"  answered 
Percy.  "If  so,  it  will  vanish  utterly  as  you 
approach.  What  sort  of  beings  do  you  fancy 
they  are  ?" 

"  Physically,  lovely  sirens  :  mentally 
frivolous  ;  morally  lax,  owing  to  their  edu 
cation,  no  doubt.  Just  the  style  of  woman 
to  fascinate  a  romantic  student." 

Percy  laughed.     "That  is  the  prevailing 


A    DISCOURSE    ON    SUICIDE.  H9 


idea,"  he  said  ;  "  but  it  is  wholly  unlike  the 
reality,  as  you  will  see." 

What  Dolores  saw,  were  groups  of  con 
tented  looking  mothers,  tidy  housewives, 
and  comfortable  young  matrons.  Women 
whose  lives  were  devoted  to  their  homes  and 
families.  Universally  neat,  and  modest  in 
appearance,  but  in  no  case  strikingly  attrac 
tive  or  beautiful. 

i  i  There  is  every  indication  here  of  happy 
domestic  life,"  Percy  said.  "These  women 
make  good  true  consorts,  and  contented 
companions.  They  exchange  their  culinary 
and  housekeeping  accomplishments,  and 
their  loyalty,  for  a  little  affection,  protec 
tion  and  support.  On  the  whole,  they  lead 
a  very  pleasant  sort  of  existence — while  it 
lasts." 

"  Their  position  is  far  more  enviable 
than  that  of  the  average  wife,"  Dolores 
responded,  ' '  for  if  they  are  unhappy  in  their 
relations,  they  can  at  least  get  away ;  and 
I  have  no  doubt  they  receive  more  devotion 
and  loyalty  than  the  majority  of  married 
women  do.  The  position  of  the  latter  seems 
to  me  the  more  humiliating  of  the  two." 


120  A    DISCOURSE     ON     SUICIDE. 


Percy  regarded  Dolores  with  a  grave  ex 
pression. 

"  You  are  a  strange  girl, v  he  said.  "  Yet 
extreme  as  you  are  in  your  ideas,  there  is 
much  truth  in  what  you  say.  I  have  very 
little  respect  for  the  husbands  of  my  acquain 
tance.  And  still  I  believe  God  meant  each 
man  to  possess  one  mate,  and  to  be  true  to 
her  in  life  and  death.  That  is  my  ideal  of 
perfect  manhood— though  an  ideal  I  never 
expect  to  attain.  There  was  a  time  when  I 
imagined  it  possible— but  now  I  live  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  hour,  and  waste  no  time  in 
theories  or  in  moralizing.  Life  is  too  short. 
But  of  one  thing  I  am  sure,  Miss  King — 
positively  sure."  He  paused,  and  she  looked 
up  expecting  some  serious  remark.  "And 
that  is — that  you  are  the  most  charming 
companion  in  the  world. " 

On  their  way  back  to  the  Avenue 
Josephine,  they  saw  a  beautiful  girl  who 
had  just  shot  herself  in  the  breast,  being 
conveyed  to  the  hospital.  Her  lovely  fea 
tures  were  distorted  with  pain,  and  her 
agonizing  groans,  as  they  lifted  her  from  the 
street  where  she  had  fallen,  were  heartrend- 


A    DISCOURSE     ON     SUICIDE. 


ing  to  hear.     Later,  as  they  sat  in  Dolores' 
parlors,  they  all  fell  to  discussing  suicide. 

"  Terrible  as  it  may  seem,"  Dolores  said, 
'  '  I  really  cannot  think  it  so  great  a  crime  as 
many  do.  We  are  never  consulted  in  regard 
to  coming  into  this  world.  Life  is  thrust 
upon  us,  and  if,  as  in  the  case  of  that  poor 
girl,  perhaps,  it  becomes  an  insupportable 
burden,  I  cannot  help  thinking  God  will 
forgive  the  suffering  soul  that  lays  the 
burden  down.  I  have  always  felt  the 
greatest  sympathy  for  suicides.  It  is  a 
cowardly  act,  I  own,  yet  it  is  a  cowardice  I 
can  comprehend  and  condone.  And  I  think 
God  will  surely  be  as  sympathetic  as  a 
mortal.  " 

"You  know  Dante's  description  of  the 
Seventh  Circle,"  suggested  Percy,  "  and  the 
horrors  which  await  the  rash  soul  of  a  sui 
cide  : 

"  When  departs  the  fierce   soul  from  the  body,  by 

itself 

Thence  torn  asunder,  to  the  seventh  Gulf 
By  Minos  doomed,  into  the  wood  it  falls, 
No  place  assigned,  but  where  so  ever 
Chance  hurled  it.3* 
6 


122  A     DISCOURSE     ON     SUICIDE. 


"But  that  was  merely  the  poetic  utter 
ance  of  a  visionary  mind,"  Dolores  an 
swered.  "No  one  in  these  days  believes  in 
a  God  who  could  be  guilty  of  such  atrocious 
punishments  for  sin  or  error,  as  Dante  de 
scribes  ;  and  then  I  contend  that  in.  many 
instances  suicide  is  not  a  crime,  it  is  merely 
a  cowardly  act.-' 

"  But  laying  aside  the  crime  of  the  act, 
think  what  an  uncomfortable  position  the 
poor  soul  may  find  itself  in  !"  suggested 
Percy.  l '  To  go  where  we  are  not  wanted 
or  invited,  in  this  world,  is  a  very  embar 
rassing  situation,  you  know.  And  to  sud 
denly  thrust  yourself,  without  an  invitation, 
upon  the  exclusive  society  of  angels — I  must 
say  I  would  not  have  the  courage  to  do  it." 

"  Well,  of  all  things,"  said  Madam  Vol- 
kenburg,  ' '  if  any  of  you  ever  do  commit 
suicide,  never  shoot  yourselves,  or  resort  to 
any  disgusting  or  painful  process.  I  can 
tell  you  of  a  very  swift  and  painless 
method." 

' '  What  is  it  ?"  they  all  asked,  in  chorus, 
fascinated,  as  most  of  us  always  are,  by  a 
discussion  of  the  horrible. 


A    DISCOURSE    ON    SUICIDE.  123 

All  but  Dolores.     She  already  knew. 

"Oh,  it  is  a  swift  poison,"  Madam  Vol- 
kenburg  explained.  "My  husband,  who 
was  a  great  experimenter  in  the  chemical 
world,  as  you  perhaps  know,  left  a  package 
of  it  among  his  possessions.  It  is  a  white, 
brilliant,  crystallized  substance,  and  the 
smallest  particle  of  it,  the  moment  it  mixes 
with  the  saliva  of  the  mouth,  and  is 
swallowed,  produces  instant  death,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  indicate  poison  afterward. 
It  cannot  be  detected,  and  it  leaves  the 
body  quietly  composed  as  if  sudden  sleep 
had  overtaken  it. " 

"  Why  is  it  not  better  known  ?"  some  one 
asked. 

"Perhaps  it  is  well  known;  perhaps 
many  of  the  sudden  deaths  by  i  heart  dis 
ease,'  of  which  we  read  so  often,  occur  in 
this  way." 

"And  it  will  produce,  as  Madame  Vol- 
kenburg  says,  swift  and  painless  death,  at 
least  upon  an  animal,"  added  Dolores. 
"  When  my  little  dog  was  run  over  by  a 
carriage  wheel,  and  lay  crying  in  terrible 
pain,  and  I  knew  he  must  die,  I  tested  the 


124  A    DISCOURSE    ON    SUICIDE. 

efficacy  of  this  poison  upon  him.     It  ended 
his  agonies  instantly. " 

"And  by  the  way,"  spoke  Madame 
laughingly,  turning  to  Dolores,  "I  gave 
you  enough  of  the  poison  to  kill  ten  dogs, 
or  human  beings,  either  ;  and  you  never 
returned  it  to  me.  Since  I  have  heard  your 
views  upon  suicide  I  think  I  had  better  take 
the  dangerous  drug  out  of  your  possession." 

"If  I  were  anxious  to  die,  I  fancy  the 
absence  of  that  drug  would  not  prevent  me 
from  finding  the  means  of  self-destruction," 
Dolores  answered,  lightly.  And  at  that 
moment  refreshments  were  served,  and  the 
conversation  turned  upon  more  agreeable 
subjects. 

At  the  exp:  ation  of  a  month — the  swift 
est  month  of  his  life,  it  seemed  to  Percy,— 
he  was  obliged  to  cut  loose  from  this  pleasant 
circle,  and  visit  London  and  Berlin,  on  the 
business  which  had  really  brought  him 
abroad. 

He  felt  a  curious  depression  of  spirits  as 
he  entered  the  parlors  on  the  Avenue 
Josephine  the  evening  preceding  his  depart 
ure — a  depression  which  he  was  hardly  able 


A    DISCOURSE     ON     SUICIDE.  125 

to  explain  to  himself.  Only  this  might  be 
his  last  interview  with  his  charming  friends, 
and  "  last  times  "  are  always  sad. 

Dolores  seemed  grave,  as  she  welcomed 
him,  and  a  little  later  she  said,  with  a  win 
ning  frankness,  "  I  never  remember  to  have 
felt  so  lonely  at  the  thought  of  any  other 
person's  departure  in  my  life,  Mr.  Durand, 
as  I  feel  at  yours.  You  have  been  such  an 
addition  to  our  circle  ;  you  are  such  a  bon 
comrade ;  just  what  a  brother  would  be,  I 
fancy.  How  I  shall  miss  you!" 

"  But  I  am  not  your  brother,  you  know," 
Percy  said,  and  he  wanted  to  add,  ' i  And 
therefore  the  association  has  its  dangers." 
He  left  it  unsaid,  however,  thinking  she 
would  understand  his  simple  assertion. 

But  she  did  not.  She  was  a  woman  with 
a  hobby,  which  precluded  the  thought  of 
marriage.  And  she  was  a  cold  woman  by 
nature.  Knowing  that  Mr.  Durand  fully 
understood  and  respected  her  views,  she 
could  see  no  danger  in  his  companionship. 
She  was  very  lonely  at  the  thought  of  his 
departure.  He  was  her  ideal  friend,  lost  as 
soon  as  found. 


126  A.    DISCOURSE    ON     SUICIDE. 

"It  has  been  a  charming  month  in 
Bohemia,"  Percy  continued.  "I  have  thor 
oughly  enjoyed  it — it  is  unlike  anything  I 
have  ever  experienced  before.  I  have  had 
my  fill  of  conventional  society,  and  I  have 
drained  the  cup  of  reckless  pleasures ;  but 
this  charming  mixture  of  refinement,  esprit 
and  abandon,  has  been  a  new  element  to 
me." 

"Apropos  to  your  reference  to  a  month 
in  Bohemia,"  said  Dolores,  "I  believe  Mr. 
Orton  has  written  a  poem  on  Bohemia, 
which  he  has  kindly  promised  to  deliver  this 
evening.  Mr.  Orton,  will  you  favor  us 
now  ?" 

"I  was  not  aware  that  you  were  a  poet, 
Mr.  Orton,"  Percy  remarked,  as  the  young 
man  arose,  and  began  to  affect  the  bashful- 
school-girl  air. 

"Sir,"  said  the  journalist,  turning  a 
stern  look  upon  Percy,  and  speaking  in  a 
sepulchral  tone,  "I  am  all  that  is  bad:  a 
newspaper  man,  a  poet,  and—  pointing 
toward  the  piano,  "the  worst  remains  to  be 
told  ;  I  am  a  pianist."  And  then,  quickly 
changing  his  expression  and  voice,  he  recited 


A    DISCOURSE     ON     SUICIDE.  137 


in  the  most  admirable  manner  the  following 
verses  : 

BOHEMIA. 

Bohemia,  o'er  thy  unatlassed  borders 

How  many  cross,  with  half-reluctant  feet, 

And  unformed  fears  of  dangers  and  disorders, 
To    find    delights,    more    wholesome    and    more 

sweet 
Than  ever  yet  were  known  to  the  "elite.'" 

Herein  can  dwell  no  pretence  and  no  seeming  ; 
No  stilted  pride  thrives  in  this  atmosphere, 

Which  stimulates  a  tendency  to  dreaming. 
The  shores  of  the  ideal  world,  from  here, 
Seem  sometimes  to  be  tangible  and  near. 

We  have  no  use  for  formal  codes  of  fashion  ; 

No  "  Etiquette  of  Courts  "  we  emulate  ; 
We  know  it  needs  sincerity  and  passion 

To  carry  out  the  plans  of  God,  or  fate  ; 

We  do  not  strive  to  seem  inanimate. 

We  call  no  time  lost  that  we  give  to  pleasure  ; 
Life's  hurrying  river  speeds  to  Death's  great  sea  ; 

We  cast  out  no  vain  plummet-line  to  measure 
Imagined  depths  of  that  unknown  To  Be, 
But  grasp  the  Now,  and  fill  it  full  of  glee. 


128  A    DISCOURSE     ON     SUICIDE. 


All  creeds  have  room  here,  and  we  all  together 
Devoutly  worship  at  Art's  sacred  shrine  ; 

But  he  who  dwells  once  in  thy  golden  weather, 
Bohemia — sweet,  lovely  land  of  mine — 
Can  find  no  joy  outside  thy  border-line. 

"  That  is  just  the  fear  which  disturbs  my 
heart,  as  I  am  about  to  cross  the  border-line 
and  go  back  to  the  common-place  world," 
sighed  Percy,  when  the  applause  which 
succeeded  the  recitation  died  away.  "I 
doubt  my  ability  to  enjoy  anything,  after 
this  delightful  experience." 

"Well,  now,"  said  Homer  Orion,  "in 
response  to  the  encore  I  ought  to  have 
received,  I  will  give  you  a  few  verses  appro 
priate  to  that  situation,  my  dear  fellow.  If 
you  commit  them  to  memory,  they  may 
serve  to  help  you  in  those  dark  hours  of 
mental  and  spiritual  pain  which  come  to 
every  man — the  morning  after  the  club  sup 
per.  They  are  called— 

PENALTY. 

Because  of  the  fullness  of  what  I  had, 
All  that  I  have  seems  poor  and  vain. 


A    DISCOURSE     ON     SUICIDE.  129 

If  I  had  not  been  happy,  I  were  not  sad — 
Tho'  my  salt  is  savorless,  why  complain  ? 

From  the  ripe  perfection  of  what  was  mine, 
All  that  is  mine  seems  worse  than  naught  ; 

Yet  I  know,  as  I  sit  in  the  dark,  and  pine, 
No  cup  could  be  drained  which  had  not  been 
fraught. 

From  the  throb  and  thrill  of  a  day  that  was, 

The  day  that  now  is  seems  dull  with  gloom  ; 

Yet  I  bear  the  dullness  and  darkness,  because 
'Tis  but  the  reaction  of  glow  and  bloom. 

From  the  royal  feast  that  of  old  was  spread, 
I  am  starved  on  the  diet  that  now  is  mine  ; 

Yet,  I   could    not  turn   hungry  from    water   and 

bread, 
If  I  had  not  been  sated  on  fruit  and  wine. 

"  Speaking  of  Bohemia,"  Dolores  said, 
"with  all  its  charms,  I  do  not  believe  I  am 
a  Bohemian  by  nature.  I  am  really  fond  of 
ceremonies  and  imposing  forms.  I  enjoy 
the  most  impressive  services  in  divine  wor 
ship.  Had  I  been  reared  in  the  Roman 
Church,  I  would  have  made  one  of  its  most 
devout  members.  I  like  conventional  life, 


130  A    DISCOURSE    ON    SUICIDE. 

but  I  do  not  like  the  people  I  meet  in  those 
circles." 

"  And  yet,"  Percy  answered,  "  it  is  gener 
ally  supposed  that  in  exclusive  circles  one 
finds  all  that  is  choice." 

"But  it  is  a  great  mistake,"  continued 
Dolores.  * '  It  may  be  true  that  whatever  is 
choice  is  always  exclusive  ;  but  whatever  is 
exclusive  is  not  always  choice.  One  finds  so 
little  variety  in  the  people  one  meets  in  the 
so-called  best  society  anywhere.  They  are 
all  after  one  pattern,  and  society  does  not 
tolerate  individual  tastes  and  ideas,  you 
know.  So  you  see  I  am  obliged  to  select 
my  congenial  friends  as  I  may,  and  create  a 
Bohemian  of  my  own." 

"Which  immediately  becomes  a  Para 
dise,"  her  listener  answered  gallantly. 

"Don't,"  ejaculated  Dolores  with  a 
pained  expression,  "it  sounds  so  like — well, 
so  like  other  men." 

"And  am  I  not  like  other  men?"  Percy 
asked,  smiling  and  secretly  pleased.  Nothing 
flatters  a  man's  vanity  more  than  being  told 
he  is  not  like  other  men.  "I  never  imagined 
myself  to  be  a  distinct  type." 


A    DISCOURSE     ON     SUICIDE. 


"  But  you  are;  or  at  least  you  have 
seemed  so  to  me.  And  that  is  why  I  have 
liked  you  so  well." 

"  Then  you  do  like  me  ?" 

Dolores  met  his  gaze  without  a  blush  or 
tremor,  frankly,  sweetly. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  ever  met  any  man 
before,  whom  I  so  thoroughly  liked  and 
respected,"  she  said.  "You  are  my  ideal 
friend." 

"  Then,  perhaps  you  will  consent  to  cor 
respond  with  me  occasionally,"  Percy  sug 
gested.  u  I  should  have  gone  away  not  dar 
ing  to  ask  the  favor,  believing  myself  only 
one  of  the  many  on  whom  you  bestowed 
your  hospitality,  but  for  your  kind  speech." 

As  he  sat  in  his  room  that  night,  Percy 
puzzled  his  brains,  trying  to  analyze  Dolores 
King's  manner  and  words,  and  state  of  mind 
toward  him. 

"She  is  either  the  most  perfect  actress, 
or  the  coldest  and  most  passionless  woman 
on  earth,"  he  said,  "incapable  of  any  strong 
emotion.  Or  else  —  or  else  —  she  likes  me 
better  than  she  knows.  At  all  events,  it  is 
fortunate  for  both,  that  I  am  going  away." 


132  A     FREAK     OF     FATE. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A    FREAK     OF     FATE. 

ERCY,  who  had  long  believed  him 
self  to  be  a  perfect  cosmopolitan, 
quite  as  much  at  home  in  one  part 
of  the  globe  as  in  another,  was  sur 
prised  to  find  that  he  was  actually  homesick 
after  leaving  Paris. 

With  an  impatience  he  could  hardly 
understand,  he  awaited  Dolores'  response  to 
his  first  letter.  When  it  came,  full  of  bright 
humor  and  sparkling  cynicism,  pleasant 
gossip  and  sincere  expressions  of  regret  at 
his  absence,  Percy  sat  and  smoked,  and 
dreamed  over  it  for  more  than  an  hour. 

He  was  trying  to  analyze  his  own  feel 
ings.  When  a  woman  does  this,  ten  to  one 
she  is  in  love.  When  a  man  does  it,  ten  to 
one  he  is  not. 

Percy  did  not  believe  himself  to  be  in 
love. 


A     FREAK     OF     FATE.  133 

"  At  least,"  he  mused,  "  I  could  never, 
even  were  I  a  marrying  man,  contemplate 
marriage  with  Dolores  King.  She  is  too 
cold,  too  caustic,  too  skeptical.  In  fact,  she 
understands  human  nature  too  well.  I 
should  want  a  wife  who  would  idolize  me, 
who  would  set  me  up  as  a  hero,  to  worship. 
I  think  many  a  man  becomes  a  hero, 
through  having  some  woman  over-estimate 
his  worth.  Rather  than  disillusion  her,  he 
acquires  the  qualities  with  which  her  loving 
imagination  has  invested  him.  Many  a  man 
has  been  saved  from  yielding  to  temptation 
at  the  last  moment,  because  he  could  not 
shatter  the  perfect  faith  of  some  trusting- 
heart.  Dolores  would  not  surround  a  man 
with  any  halo.  She  sees  us  all  as  we  are — 
perhaps  exaggerating  our  defects  somewhat. 
She  would  suspect  a  man  of  evil  on  the 
slightest  provocation,  and  that  is  the  surest 
way  to  drive  a  human  being  into  wrong 
doing. 

"  But  she  is  a  delightful  comrade,  and  so 
exquisitely  beautiful  that  the  plainest  room 
would  seem  elegantly  furnished  if  she  occu 
pied  it. 


134  A     FREAK     OF     FATE. 

"  She  understands  the  art  of  entertaining. 
And  time  hangs  heavy  on  a  fellow's  hands, 
after  he  has  lost  her  society.  After  all,  life 
is  too  short  to  relinquish  any  pleasure  within 
our  grasp,  for  fear  of  consequences."  And, 
rising  and  tossing  aside  his  cigar,  he  added 
aloud  : 

' '  With  the  Persian  poet  I  can  say, 

"O  threats  of  Hell,  and  hopes  of  Paradise, 

One  thing  at  least  is  certain,  this  life  flies. 

One  thing  is  certain,  and  the  rest  is  lies — 

The  flower  that  once  has  blown  forever  dies." 

A  few  weeks  later,  Percy  received  letters 
from  New  York,  requesting  him  to  visit 
London,  there  to  complete  business  arrange 
ments  with  a  large  export  house,  and  then 
to  proceed  to  Copenhagen,  where  it  would  be 
necessary  for  him  to  remain  several  months 
in  the  interest  of  the  firm. 

When  the  letter  arrived,  he  had  just 
dispatched  one  to  Dolores,  which  closed  as 
follows  : 

k'I  expect  to  return  to  America  next 
month.  I  go  with  regret,  and  yet  no  doubt 
it  is  for  the  best.  It  will  cut  short  our 


A    FREAK     OF    FATE.  135 

delightful  yet  dangerous  companionship,  but 
I  trust  you  will  permit  me  to  call  upon  you 
and  say  farewell  before  I  go.  In  your  last, 
you  mentioned  the  possibility  of  leaving 
Paris  soon,  but  you  did  not  tell  me  what 
your  plans  were.  Wherever  you  are,  I  shall, 
with  your  permission,  find  you,  before  I  sail 
for  America." 

What  was  his  astonishment  to  receive  in 
reply  to  his  letter,  the  information  that 
Dolores,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Butler  and 
Madame  Volkenburg  were  about  to  start  on 
a  journey  to  the  Land  of  the  Midnight  Sun. 

"We  go  direct  to  Moscow  first,"  wrote 
Dolores,  "stopping  there  long  enough  to 
drop  a  tear  on  the  tombs  of  the  Czars  ;  then 
on  to  St.  Petersburg ;  then  by  steamer  down 
the  Gulf  of  Finland  and  across  the  Baltic  to 
Stockholm ;  thence  by  rail  to  Christiania, 
where  we  may  linger  some  time,  as  Madame 
Volkenburg  has  dear  friends  there.  From 
Christiania  we  go  direct  to  the  North  Cape. 
It  is  our  intention  to  return  via  Copenhagen 
and  the  Channels,  as  late  in  the  season  as  we 
can  safely  make  the  trip.  We  do  not  leave 
Paris  under  three  weeks ;  I  hope  you  will 


136  A    FREAK     OF     FATE. 

call  upon  us  before  your  return  to  America, 
as  you  have  promised." 

When  Percy  read  this  he  laughed  aloud. 

"  It  is  fate,"  he  said.  "  We  are  destined  to 
be  thrown  together.  I  shall  proceed  at  once 
to  Copenhagen,  and  when  my  charming 
friends  arrive  in  Christiania,  I  shall  join 
them  there  and  make  the  journey  with  them 
to  the  North  Cape." 

It  needed  this  bright  prospect  to  keep 
Percy's  heart  cheerful  after  he  arrived  in 
Copenhagen.  Not  a  person  in  the  city  had 
hung  out  a  sign  of  furnished  rooms  to  let  ; 
so  finally  he  decided  to  advertise.  After 
waiting  two  days  for  the  advertisement  to 
appear,  he  rushed  off  to  the  printing  office 
to  demand  an  explanation.  The  clerk  re 
marked  calmly,  that  it  had  been  lost,  and  as 
the  next  day  was  Sunday,  he  would  be 
obliged  to  wait  until  Monday.  On  Monday 
the  notice  appeared,  badly  printed,  in  a 
column  headed  "  Servant  Girls  Wanted." 

Daring  that  day  Percy  found  a  room  to 
his  liking,  on  the  Tordenskjoldsgade,  but  as 
he  feared  an  attack  of  lockjaw  if  he  at- 
empted  to  direct  any  one  to  his  lodgings, 


A    FREAK    OP    FATE.  137 

he  chose  apartments  on  the  Hovedvagtsgade 
instead.  His  breakfast,  when  served,  con 
sisted  of  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  cold  roll.  His 
dinner,  for  which  he  had  a  ravenous  appetite, 
was  better  enjoyed  in  anticipation  than  par 
ticipation.  The  soup  was  devoid  of  any  ex 
tract  of  flesh,  fish,  or  fowl,  but  contained 
quantities  of  ginger,  citron,  lemon,  and 
sugar.  This  was  followed  by  boiled  fish, 
tasteless  and  watery,  and  cauliflower  swim 
ming  in  sauce  composed  of  milk  and  black 
pepper.  There  were  no  side-dishes,  and  the 
eagerly-expected  dessert  brought  only  dis 
appointment  and  bread  and  cheese. 

The  next  day,  Percy  was  so  curious  con 
cerning  a  mysterious  plate  of  soup  which 
was  served,  that  he  made  inquiries  and 
learned  the  actual  ingredients.  They  con 
sisted  of  carrots,  potatoes,  cabbage,  sugar, 
eels,  cinnamon,  cherries,  plums,  and  small 
pieces  of  pork.  Another  soup  was  made 
from  the  first  milk  of  a  cow  ;  and  what  was 
known  as  "beer  soup,"  flavored  with  various 
ingredients,  was  frequently  served. 

On  inquiry,  Percy  found  that  other 
boarding-houses  and  hotels  furnished  the 


138  A    FREAK     OP     FATE. 


same  menu,  and  he  could  only  better  his  con 
dition  by  boarding  at  the  largest  hotel  at  an 
exorbitant  price.  Finally  he  became  recon 
ciled  to  the  fare  :  esteemed  Limburger 
cheese  as  a  delicacy,  and  hailed  the  advent 
of  every  new  kind  of  soup,  as  he  wrote  home 
to  his  cousin,  "with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
scientific  explorer.'' 

His  next  achievement  was  learning  how 
to  sleep  in  a  Danish  bed.  The  cot  was  so 
narrow,  and  so  rounded  in  the  middle,  that 
if  he  forgot  himself  and  fell  asleep,  the  cov 
ers  were  sure  to  slide  off  one  side  or  the 
other ;  and  any  effort  to  detain  them 
resulted  in  his  own  downfall.  Finally,  he 
concluded  to  lie  under  the  feather  bed, 
instead  of  over  it ;  and  thus,  braced  by  the 
wall  on  one  side  and  two  chairs  on  the  other, 
and  the  huge  tick  settling  down  over  him, 
he  succeeded  in  wooing  slumber. 

After  two  months  devoted  to  business  in 
Copenhagen,  he  took  passage  one  autumn 
afternoon,  in  the  steamship  "Aarhus,"  for 
Christiania,  where  he  was  to  join  Dolores 
and  her  party.  Passing  through  the  t(  Kat 
tegat,"  a  severe  wind  rendered  most  of  his 


A    FHEAK     OF    FATE.  139 


companions  seasick,  and  Percy  was  almost 
the  only  one  who  escaped  the  infliction. 
The  next  morning,  one  of  the  passengers 
asked  the  captain  if  the  storm  had  been  a 
severe  one.  For  answer  he  simply  pointed 
to  the  smoke-stack,  which  was  encrusted  to 
its  very  summit  with  the  salt  from  the 
waves  which  had  dashed  over  it  in  the  night. 

Percy  stopped  at  the  beautiful  city  of 
Gottenburg  for  a  day,  and  made  a  journey 
into  the  Northwest  some  fifty  miles  to  visit 
the  famous  falls  of  Trollhatton,  which  are 
unsurpassed  in  all  Europe.  In  a  letter  to 
his  cousin  that  night  he  wrote  as  follows  : 

"  On  the  little  cluster  of  houses,  which 
constitute  the  village  of  Trollhatton,  I  was 
surprised  to  see  in  bold  letters  the  name  of  a 
New  York  sewing-machine  company.  I  had 
seen  the  sign  in  France  and  Germany,  but  I 
hardly  expected  to  find  it  in  this  wild,  unset 
tled  portion  of  Sweden.  The  same  day,  in 
traversing  the  vast,  dreary,  rocky  plateau 
which  stretches  from  Lake  Venern  to  the 
Skagerak,  a  large,  freshly- pain  ted  sign  of 
6  Fairbank  Scales '  met  my  eye.  But  in  fact, 
where  you  find  anything  good  over  here  in 


140  A     FREAK     OF     FATE. 

the  way  of  machinery,  you  may  be  sure  it  is 
from  America. 

' i  In  all  my  travels  through  Germany  I 
have  never  seen  a  reaper,  a  mower,  or  a  steel 
plow.  Most  of  the  grain  seemed  to  be  cut 
with  a  sickle.  In  a  very  few  instances  I 
saw  men  using  an  awkward  sort  of  cradle  ; 
but  they  always  threw  their  swath  into  the 
standing  grain  instead  of  away  from  it,  and 
had  women  follow  behind  with  sickles  to 
pick  it  out  and  lay  it  in  shape,  so  I  did  not 
see  that  they  gained  much. 

"It  may  be  true  that  the  American  is 
somewhat  given  to  bragging ;  but  when  he 
comes  to  see  the  clumsy  old-fashioned  way 
of  doing  things  in  Europe,  and  compares  it 
with  the  methods  at  home,  be  begins  to  feel 
that  he  has  a  foundation  for  his  boasting. 
The  best  fire-arms,  the  best  cutlery,  the  best 
furniture,  and  the  best  tools,  all  come  from 
America.  Even  American  cheese  has  found 
its  way  all  over  Europe,  and  our  various 
brands  of  tobacco  are  as  familiar  to  the 
European  smoker,  as  to  the  Yankee  him 
self." 

Two  days  later  found  Percy  enjoying  a 


A    FREAK     OF     FATE.  141 

N 

delightful  interview  with  his  friends  in  Chris- 
tiania  ;  and  the  next  day  the  happy  quar 
tette  started  on  their  journey  to  the  Land  of 
the  Midnight  Sun. 


142  AN     EXCITING    ICE-BOAT 


CHAPTER    XII. 

AN  EXCITING  ICE-BOAT  ADVENTURE. 

URING     six    delightful    weeks    of 
travel  and  sightseeing  through  the 
wonderfully  picturesque  scenery  of 
Sweden  and  Norway,   Percy  was 
again  the  comrade  and  escort  of  Dolores. 

Day  by  day  a  thousand  nameless  acts  of 
kindness  and  respectful  unobtrusive  atten 
tions,  as  thoughtful  as  they  were  delicate, 
endeared  him  to  the  heart,  at  whose  portal 
love,  clothed  in  his  most  ancient  and  most 
successful  disguise  of  friendship,  was  effect 
ing  an  entrance. 

It  was  late  in  November  when  the  party 
returned  to  Copenhagen. 

"  My  business  matters  will  detain  me 
here  a  week,  possibly  ten  days,"  Percy  said. 
"  You  will  need  that  time  to  thoroughly 
enjoy  the  Thorvaldseii  and  the  Ethnological 
Museums — which  are  in  their  way  the  finest 


ADVENTURE.  143 


in  the  world.  Then  I  shall  be  ready  to  escort 
you  to  Paris,  before  I  report  myself  at 
London/' 

Madame  Volkenburg  returned  to  Chrk.- 
tiania  the  day  previous  to  the  intended 
departure  of  her  friends.  But  at  the  expira 
tion  of  the  week,  just  as  Percy  was  planning 
to  make  an  exit  from  the  cold  bleak  Island, 
Dolores  sprained  her  ankle,  and  was  unable 
to  leave  her  room  during  four  weeks.  Percy 
found  business  enough  to  employ  a  few 
hours  of  each  day  in  the  interest  of  the  Lon 
don  'and  American  houses,  and  the  re 
mainder  of  the  time  he  passed  agreeably  in 
entertaining  the  ladies.  He  read  aloud, 
told  interesting  stories  of  adventure  and 
travel,  and  made  himself  so  thoroughly 
charming  that  Dolores  forgot  her  misfortune 
in  view  of  the  happy  hours  it  brought  her. 

When  she  at  length  declared  herself  able 
to  proceed  upon  her  journey  another  obstacle 
presented  itself.  Th^  weather  became  un 
usually  cold  ;  and  the  Sounds,  surrounding 
the  Hand  on  which  Copenhagen  is  situated, 
were  packed  with  jagged  blocks  of  ice,  too 
thick  to  be  broken  by  a  steamer,  but  not 


144  AN    EXCITING     ICE-BOAT 

sufficiently  connected  to  make  it  safe  for 
men  or  teams  to  venture  on  them.  Our 
friends  were  prisoners,  consequently,  upon 
an  almost  inaccessible  island. 

"  The  blockade  cannot  last  forever," 
Percy  said,  when  he  had  informed  the  ladies 
of  the  condition  of  matters.  "That  is  all 
the  consolation  I  can  give  you  at  present.  It 
may  last  a  week,  or  a  month,  I  am  led  to 
understand.  In.  the  meantime,  we  must 
enjoy  ourselves  as  best  we  can.  I  am  very 
sorry  Madame  Volkenburg  did  not  remain 
with  us,  to  share  a  little  jaunt  to  Kaskilde — 
the  ancient  Capital  of  Denmark,  which  we 
will  make  to-morrow." 

"What  is  there  to  see  at  Kaskilde?" 
inquired  Dolores. 

"  A  cathedral,  of  course,"  Percy  an 
swered.  "No  doubt  you  are  tired  of 
cathedrals,  but  this  is  a  famous  one :  a  relic 
of  the  ancient  grandeur  of  the  city  when  it 
numbered  100,000  souls.  Its  population  is 
less  than  5,000  now.  You  will  find  much  to 
interest  you  there,  as  this  building  has  been 
the  burial-place  of  nearly  all  the  Danish 
kings." 


ADVENTURE.  145 


Kaskilde  was  not  more  than  twenty  miles 
from  Copenhagen,  and  accessible  by  rail. 

Dolores  was  surprised  to  find  many  of  the 
tombs  exquisitely  carved  with  marble  and 
alabaster.  One  of  the  most  interesting  bore 
the  life-sized  figure  of  Queen  Margaret,  who 
died  in  1412.  The  beautifully-portrayed 
features,  full  of  expression,  were  declared  to 
be  a  correct  likeness  of  the  fair  queen. 

In  the  centre  of  the  church  upon  a  large 
iron  slab  set  into  the  floor,  it  was  recorded 
that  ' '  This  spot  is  purchased  by  Nils  Jurger- 
sen,  of  the  Church,  as  a  resting  place  for  his 
posterity  for  all  time  to  come  :  in  order  that 
his  family  need  not  change  their  burial-place 
every  twenty  years,  as  other  people  do." 
But  in  spite  of  this  sarcastic  reference  to 
other  people,  the  royal  mandate  went  forth, 
that  no  more  people  not  of  royal  blood 
should  be  buried  in  the  church.  And  Nils 
Jurgersen's  decendants  are  obliged  to  sleep 
out  of  doors,  like  "  other  people,"  after  all. 

High  up  in  the  nave  of  the  church  stood 

a    huge    clock.     Before    it    two    half-sized 

figures  carved  in  wood.     At  the  end  of  each 

hour,  the  man  struck  the  time  with  a  ham- 

7 


146  AN    EXCITING     ICE-BOAT 

mer  upon  the  face  of  the  clock  :  while  the 
quarter-hours  were  struck  by  the  woman 
against  a  small  bell. 

"  This  little  old  couple  have  been  faithful 
to  each  other  during  four  hundred  years,'' 
said  Percy,  as  he  stood  beside  Dolores  watch 
ing  the  figures.  "Is  not  that  a  wonderful 
illustration  of  constancy  f 

"Yes,"  Dolores  answered,  laughing. 
"Such  illustrations  are  readily  found,  in 
wood.  But  how  presumptive  of  man — to 
produce  such  an  example,  when  the  Creator 
gave  him  no  human  precedent !" 

"I  must  tell  you  about  the  clock,"  con 
tinued  Percy.  "Originally,  there  were  fig 
ures  of  St.  George  upon  a  horse,  fighting 
the  Dragon.  Every  time  the  clock  struck, 
the  Dragon  sprang  upon  the  horse,  and  the 
latter  gave  a  wild  scream.  But  there  was 
an  old  priest  who  complained  that  the  noise 
of  this  battle  disturbed  him  in  his  preaching  : 
so  the  Knight  and  the  Dragon — wonderful 
pieces  of  mechanism—  were  destroyed  to 
please  one  conceited  old  egotist.  And,  fur 
thermore,  he  commanded  that  the  faithful 
old  couple  should  be  compelled  to  keep  the 


ADVENTURE.  147 


Sabbath  like  other  people.  The  machinery 
of  the  clock  was  so  arranged,  in  accordance 
with  his  wishes,  that  no  hours  have  been 
struck  on  the  Sabbath  since  that  time." 

Hanging  in  a  prominent  part  of  the 
church,  Mrs.  Butler  discovered  a  painting 
which  amused  her  greatly.  It  represented 
the  devil,  well  horned  and  hoofed,  gazing 
sharply  at  the  pews,  in  his  hand  a  pencil 
and  a  scroll.  On  the  latter  was  inscribed  : 
"  I  make  a  note  of  all  those  who  come  late 
or  go  around  and  tattle." 

"I  wish  I  were  able  to  purchase  this 
painting  and  send  it  over  to  America,"  Mrs. 
Butler  remarked.  "  We  need  it  there,  I  am 
sure." 

At  the  expiration  of  two  weeks,  the 
blockade  still  continued.  The  whole  Baltic, 
as  well  as  the  North  Sea,  was  one  mass  of 
floating  ice,  which  the  powerful  currents 
and  tides  in  the  connecting  channels  kept  in 
motion. 

If  the  reader  has  not  visited  this  portion 
of  Europe,  by  glancing  at  any  map  he  will 
see  that  the  Northwestern  part  of  Denmark 


148  AN    EXCITING    ICE-BOAT 

consists  of  two  islands.  The  "Western  is 
known  as  Funem,  the  Eastern  as  Zealand. 

The  "Great  Belt,"  as  the  channel  between 
them  is  called,  is  from  fifteen  to  twenty 
miles  wide  in  the  narrowest  portion,  and  is 
so  called  to  distinguish  it  from  the  channel 
between  Funeni  and  the  mainland,  known 
as  the  "Little  Belt." 

In  ordinary  years,  these  straits  remain 
sufficiently  open,  so  that  steamers  can  cross 
regularly  ;  or  else  they  freeze  solidly,  allow 
ing  sleighs  to  transfer  freight  and  passen 
gers. 

But  now,  Copenhagen  was  entirely  cut 
off  from  all  communication  with  the  out 
side  world. 

Percy  was  told,  however,  that  an  effort 
was  being  made  to  carry  the  mails  across 
the  Sound  in  a  sort  of  ice-boat. 

On  investigation,  he  discovered  that  these 
ice-boats  were  in  fact  large,  strongly- built 
fishing-smacks,  with  iron  runners  on  the 
bottom.  Each  boat  carried  a  crew  of  eight 
or  ten  weather-beaten  old  fishermen. 

' 6  If  you  can  convey  the  mails  across  the 
Channel  in  those  boats,  why  can't  you 


ADVENTURE.  149 


carry  passengers  ?';  Percy  asked  as  he  stood 
inspecting  the  smacks  the  day  before  their 
intended  venture. 

The  men  laughed,  and  gave  him  to  un 
derstand  in  broken  German — the  language 
he  had  used — that  any  man  could  go  who 
had  the  courage  to  make  the  attempt. 

As  he  related  this  to  Mrs.  Butler  and 
Dolores  a  little  later,  he  said  :  "If  I  had  the 
least  idea  when  navigation  would  open  and 
permit  you  to  make  your  escape,  I  would 
go  on  the  ice-boat  to-morrow.  Business 
cares  begin  to  weigh  upon  me  heavily.  But 
I  do  not  like  to  leave  you  imprisoned  here 
for  an  indefinite  time." 

"Why  could  not  we,  too,  go  by  the  ice 
boat  ?"  suggested  Dolores. 

"Impossible  !"  cried  Percy,  aghast. 

"  By  no  means.  We  are  experienced 
travelers,  and  the  adventure  would  be  ex 
hilarating  after  our  long  imprisonment  here. 
If  the  crew  are  opposed,  I  will  go  myself  and 
talk  them  into  consenting." 

"  Although  they  could  not  understand  a 
word  you  speak,  I  know  you  would  win 


150  AN    EXCITING    ICE-BOAT 

their  consent  to  anything,"  laughed  Percy. 
"  But  I  will  see  if  the  plan  is  practicable." 

An  hour  later,  he  returned  from  a  second 
interview  with  the  ice-boat  crew. 

"  You  can  go,"  he  said,  "if  your  courage 
will  sustain  you.  Eeduce  your  hand  luggage 
to  the  smallest  possible  compass,  and  be  pre 
pared  to  start  for  Korsor  this  P.  M.  at  five 
o'clock.  We  remain  there  over  night.  We 
take  passage  in  the  boat  early  in  the  morn 
ing.  Two  other  gentlemen  are  to  accompany 
us,  so  we  shall  not  die  alone." 

In  the  chilly  dawn  of  the  following  morn- 
ning  our  little  party  stood  wondering  where 
they  were  to  be  stored  in  those  queer-looking 
smacks — one  loaded  with  the  heavier  bag 
gage,  the  other  half-filled  with  mail  bags. 
The  ladies  were  soon  told  to  take  seats  in  the 
rear  boat,  among  the  mail  bags  ;  while  the 
men  were  instructed  to  run  alongside,  and 
to  be  prepared  to  spring  into  it  at  a  moment's 
notice.  The  crew  pulled  on  a  long  rope  at 
tached  to  the  prow  of  the  boat,  and  it  gave  a 
lurch  forward. 

For  thirty  or  forty  rods  from  shore,  the 
ice  was  solid,  and  slanted  down  toward  the 


ADVENTURE.  151 


water.  The  boats  glided  along  easily  and 
rapidly.  The  ladies  laughed  gleefully  and 
enjoyed  the  novel  mode  of  locomotion. 

All  the  crew,  and  the  three  gentlemen 
passengers,  were  provided  with  huge  straw 
overshoes,  the  soles  fully  two  inches  thick. 
These  served  to  protect  their  feet  from  the 
cold,  and  prevented  slipping  on  the  ice. 

"  What  rare  good  sport  !"  cried  Dolores, 
looking  like  a  Russian  princess  in  her  furs, 
as  she  smiled  up  into  Percy's  face,  while  he 
ran  lightly  along  beside  her. 

"  It  is  like  the  coasting  days  of  childhood 
on  a  large  scale." 

Just  then  there  came  an  ominous  crack 
ing  sound,  and  suddenly  the  forward  boat 
crashed  through  the  ice,  which  gave  way  for 
rods  in  every  direction.  The  rear  boat  went 
shooting  down  an  inclined  plane  into  the 
water.  The  ladies  shrieked,  the  crew 
shouted,  the  boat  turned  over  on  its  side, 
but  was  speedily  righted. 

Percy  succeeded  in  springing  into  the 
boat  before  it  reached  the  open  sea,  but  the 
other  two  passengers  clung  to  its  side,  their 
legs  dangling  in  the  icy  water. 


152  AN    EXCITING     IC£-BOAT 

The  forward  crew  threw  out  a  long  rope 
and  a  plank,  and,  getting  out  on  the  ice, 
pulled  the  boat  along  a  few  lengths.  The 
rear  boat  was  pushed  along  in  its  wake 
through  the  broken  ice.  As  they  proceeded 
farther  from  the  shore,  the  ice  became  more 
uneven.  Where  it  was  strong,  the  crew 
propelled  the  boats  by  means  of  the  ropes ; 
but  where  it  was  shaky  or  broken,  the  oars 
and  boards  were  brought  into  requisition. 
The  old  seamen  found  constant  amusement 
in  the  terrified  screams  of  Mrs.  Butler,  every 
time  they  crashed  through  the  ice,  while 
Dolores  seemed  to  enjoy  the  excitement  with 
an  almost  childish  delight. 

Upon  a  sort  of  sand-bar  in  one  place, 
which  marked  the  boundary  between  the 
fixed  or  land-ice,  and  the  loose  cakes  floating 
in  the  Sound,  immense  blocks  had  been 
crowded  into  all  sorts  of  fantastic  shapes, 
forming  an  irregular  rampart  thirty  or  forty 
feet  high. 

Beyond  this,  the  crew  was  able  to  keep 
the  boat  in  the  water  most  of  the  time, 
winding  in  and  out  among  the  islands  of  ice. 


ADVENTURE.  153 


Once,  they  were  caught  in  a  narrow  strip 
of  water  between  two  ice-floes. 

Then  the  crew  became  excited,  and  hur 
riedly  ran  the  boat  up  on  the  ice  out  of 
harm's  way.  A  few  minutes  later,  the 
edges  of  the  ice-floes  began  to  grind  together 
and  double  up,  impelled  by  the  tremendous 
currents  underneath. 

Dolores,  who  had  grown  very  pale,  while 
they  were  in  this  perilous  situation,  shivered 
slightly,  as  she  heard  the  grinding  of  the  ice 
floes,  and  suddenly  swayed  back  uncon 
scious. 

Percy  reached  out  his  arm  just  in  time  to 
receive  her  inanimate  form. 

The  swoon  lasted  but  a  moment  :  yet 
during  that  moment  Percy  experienced  the 
delicious  pleasure  of  holding  her  fair  head 
upon  his  shoulder,  of  clasping  her  lovely 
shape  against  his  heart.  All  his  well-con 
trolled  emotions  seemed  to  cry  out  against 
their  long  constraint ;  and  a  sudden  desire 
to  seize  her  in  his  arms  and  cover  her  beau 
tiful  face  with  kisses  might  have  overruled 
his  reason,  his  sense  of  propriety  and  his 
7* 


154  AN    EXCITING    ICEBOAT 

good  breeding,  had  she  not  opened  her  eyes 
and  drawn  herself  out  of  his  arms. 

"  How  foolish  I  am,"  she  said.  i '  But  I 
really  thought  we  were  to  be  crushed 
between  those  great  ice  jaws.  I  will  not  be 
so  weak  again." 

"  Please  do,"  whispered  Percy.  "  It  was 
the  happiest  moment  of  my  life."  His  warm 
audible  breath  fanned  her  cheek ;  his  eyes 
were  full  of  a  fire  she  had  never  before  seen 
in  them ;  her  blood  tingled  through  her 
veins,  producing  a  slight  intoxication.  Her 
lids  drooped,  her  cheek  crimsoned,  but  she 
did  not  rebuke  him  for  his  speech  or  his 
glance. 

A  strange,  sweet  languor  filled  her  heart, 
and  rendered  any  commonplace  remark 
impossible.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
was  conscious  of  a  vague  pleasure  in  the 
close  proximity  of  a  human  being. 

Out  in  the  middle  of  the  Sound  they 
could  see  the  black  smoke  of  the  steamer 
"  Absolem  "  awaiting  them  in  a  long  strip  of 
open  sea.  By  noon  they  were  within  a  mile 
of  her  :  and  here  the  crew  stopped  their 


ADVENTURE.  155 


boats  in  the  middle  of  an  ice-floe,  and  served 
a  sort  of  Arctic  dinner. 

An  hour  later,  they  reached  the  steamer  ; 
the  mails  and  passengers  were  transferred 
and  the  ice-boats  returned  to  Korsor. 

The  "  Absolem  "  had  been  two  days  and 
two  nights  in  the  ice,  and  had  narrowly 
escaped  destruction  among  the  sunken  rocks, 
whither  it  had  been  carried  by  the  powerful 
ice  currents. 

But  now,  with  an  open  sea  before  them, 
they  approached  the  western  shore.  As  they 
neared  Nyborg,  Percy  called  the  attention  of 
the  ladies  to  the  remarkable  thickness  of  the 
land  ice.  And  to  their  surprise  a  few 
moments  later,  they  saw  the  ship  make  fast 
to  this  clearly-defined  and  solid  ice  pier,  and 
unload  its  freight  and  passengers  as  readily 
as  if  it  had  been  in  harbor. 

Here  they  were  huddled  into  Russian 
sleighs,  and  driven  rapidly  to  the  station  at 
Nyborg,  where  they  took  the  train  for 
Hamburg. 


156  A     STAR     FALLS. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A    STAR    FALLS. 

ERCY  found  letters  in  London, 
which  gave  him  the  opportunity 
of  remaining  in  Europe  perman 
ently,  if  he  chose  to  accept  it. 
The  business  outlook  was  fine,  and  the  posi 
tion  most  desirable  for  him.  Yet  he  decided 
to  refuse  it ;  to  return  to  America  at  once, 
and  send  some  one  else  to  fill  the  vacancy. 
A  farewell  letter  he  wrote  to  Dolores  will 
explain  his  reasons.  It  read  as  follows  : 

"My  DEAR  Miss  KING  :— 

;'I  have  decided,  somewhat  suddenly,  to 
return  to  America,  despite  the  fact  that  my 
senior  partners  desire  me  to  accept  a  perma 
nent  position  abroad. 

"'I  shall  sail  next  week  and  without 
seeing  you  again.  I  hope  you  will  not  think 
me  discourteous. 

"But  to  be  frank,    Miss  Dolores,  I  find 


A     STAR     FALLS.  157 


our  intimate  acquaintance  growing  con 
stantly  more  dangerous.  I  am  not  a  marry 
ing  man,  as  you  know  ;  and  I  respect  your 
views  011  the  same  subject.  Even  if  I  wished 
I  could  not  change  those  views  ;  and  no 
greater  mistake  could  be  made  by  two 
people  who  entertained  our  ideas,  than  to 
permit  any  combination  of  circumstances  to 
bind  them  together  for  life.  Yet,  at  the 
same  time,  it  is  impossible  for  two  young 
unmarried  persons  like  ourselves,  neither  of 
us  owing  allegiance  to  any  third  party,  to 
continue  long  in  this  fraternal  sort  of  com 
radeship,  which  now  exists,  between  us. 
You  are  a  beautiful  and  fascinating  woman. 
I  am  by  110  means  a  second  Plato.  In. 
spite  of  my  wish  to  please  you,  and  to 
be  the  perfect  friend  you  are  so  kind  as 
to  call  me,  I  find  myself  constantly  irri 
tated  with  your  calm,  emotionless  de 
meanor  toward  me.  I  would  not  offend 
you  by  any  word  of  love  ;  yet  I  am 
obliged  to  be  always  on  my  guard  when  in 
your  presence,  and  when  I  am  absent  from 
you,  I  feel  a  feverish  desire  to  be  near  you. 
Your  beauty  and  your  brightness  and  your 


158  A     STAR    FALLS. 

many  agreeable  qualities  are  an  aggravation 
to  me.  I  am  aware  that  it  is  something 
more  (or  less)  than  a  feeling  of  friendship 
which  has  taken  possession  of  me,  and,  since 
it  is  so,  the  only  wise  course  lies  in  flight. 
For, 

He  who  loves  and  runs  away 
May  live  to  love  another  day. 

I  shall  always  be  your  friend,  and  I  hope 
you  will  continue  to  answer  my  letters. 
You  have  been  a  revelation  to  me  in  many 
ways,  and  my  experience  in  your  society 
can  never  be  forgotten.  I  am  sure  I  am 
better  for  it.  Yet  I  am  only  mortal,  and 
I  can  but  be  rendered  unhappy  by  a  contin 
uation  of  what  has  been  so  pleasant.  La 
Bruyere  was  right  when  he  said,  that  friend 
ship  was  impossible  between  the  sexes.  I 
beg  you  to  forgive  the  extreme  frankness  of 
this  letter,  and  to  think  of  me  as  your  weak, 
selfish,  yet 

' '  Admiring  friend, 

"  PERCY  DURAND." 

He  sealed  and  addressed  the  letter,  and 


A     STAR    FALLS.  159 

rang  for  a  boy  to  post  it.  But  at  that 
moment  a  rap  sounded  at  his  door,  and  a 
telegram  was  placed  in  his  hands.  He  tore 
it  open  and  read  : 

PARIS,  FRANCE. 

"  Mrs.  Butler  is  dying  ;  will  you  come  to 
me  ?  DOLORES." 

Aside  from  the  sorrow  he  felt  at  the  news 
of  Mrs.  Butler's  illness,  Percy  read  the  tele 
gram  with  an  actual  sense  of  relief.  We  all 
remember  to  have  experienced  the  feeling  at 
some  time  in  our  lives,  when  inclination 
warred  with  conscience,  and  Fate,  constitut 
ing  herself  umpire,  decided  in  favor  of 
inclination. 

' '  There  is  no  escaping  Destiny.  After 
all,  whatever  the  Power  that  rules  this 
world,  we  are 

"  Impotent  pieces  of  the  game  he  plays, 
Upon  the  checker-board  of  nights  and  days," 

he  said,  as  he  placed  the  letter  he  had  writ 
ten  in  his  pocket,  and  scribbled  a  hasty  reply 
to  Dolores'  telegram. 

Arriving  at  Paris,  he  found  Mrs.  Butler 


160  A     STAR    FALLS. 


in  an  extremely  critical  condition.  She  had 
been  ill  since  the  day  following  her  arrival, 
and  Dolores  had  scarcely  slept  or  tasted  food 
in  her  care  and  anxiety. 

' '  Never  since  my  uncle  died,"  she  said  to 
Percy,  "  have  I  known  such  loneliness  and 
dependence  as  I  feel  now.  It  seemed  to  me 
I  must  have  some  one  near  me,  who  would 
share  my  anxiety  and  personal  interest  in 
the  patient.  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for 
sending  for  you  :  but  when  I  realized  that 
she  might  die,  I  could  not  bear  the  suspense 
any  longer  alone." 

Percy  proved  himself  a  hero  in  the  emer 
gency  :  he  was  brother,  father,  friend  and 
messenger,  all  in  one. 

He  performed  all  those  innumerable  out 
side  duties  necessitated  by  illness,  and  helped 
sustain  Dolores'  courage  and  strength,  until 
at  length  the  patient  was  pronounced  on  the 
highway  to  recovery. 

Then  there  were  long  health-restoring 
drives,  and  pleasant  afternoons  when  Percy 
read  to  the  convalescent,  while  Dolores  sat 
near  with  her  sewing  or  drawing.  But  by 
and  by  there  came  a  day  when  Percy  real- 


A     STAR    FALLS.  1G1 

ized    that  he  must  tear  himself  away,  at 
once. 

He  had  been  reading  aloud,  and,  among 
other  things,  he  read  a  little  poem  entitled 
"The  Farewell."  It  seemed  particularly 
suited  to  his  case. 

'Tis  not  the  untried  soldier  new  to  danger 
Who  fears  to  enter  into  active  strife. 

Amidst  the  roll  of  drums,  the  cannons'  rattle, 
He  craves  adventure,  and  thinks  not  of  life. 

But  the   scarred  veteran  knows  the  price  of  glory, 
He  does  not  court  the  conflict  or  the  fray. 

He  has  no  longing  to  rehearse  that  gory 
And  most  dramatic  act,  of  war's  dark  play. 

He  who  to  love,  has  always  been  a  stranger, 
All  unafraid  may  linger  in  your  spell. 

My  heart  has  known  the  warfare,  and  its  danger. 
It  craves  no  repetition — so  farewell. 

He  laid  down  the  book.  Mrs.  Butler  was 
asleep,  lulled  by  his  soothing  voice.  As  he 
sat  looking  at  Dolores,  her  beauty,  her 
grace,  her  intellect,  and  all  her  countless 
charms  awoke  an  irritated  sense  of  injury 
in  his  heart. 


162  A     STAR    FALLS. 

What  right  had  she  to  keep  her  attrac 
tions  constantly  before  him,  and  yet  deny 
him  the  right  of  possession  ?  It  was  the  cup 
of  Tantalus.  He  rose  suddenly. 

"Dolores,"  he  said,  drawing  a  letter  from 
his  pocket,  ' '  I  wrote  this  to  you  before  I 
received  you  telegram  calling  me  to  you.  I 
am  going  back  to  London  day  after  to-mor 
row.  I  shall  call  to-morrow  to  say  farewell. 
But  I  w^ant  you  to  read  this  letter,  as  it  will 
explain  to  you  my  abrupt  leave-taking  bet 
ter  than  I  can  explain  it."  And  then  he  left 
her. 

Dolores  broke  the  seal,  and  began  to  read 
the  letter,  first  with  wondering  curiosity, 
then  with  anger.  Her  eye  flashed,  her 
cheek  flushed,  her  lip  quivered. 

"What  right  has  he  to  address  me — to 
think  of  me  like  this?"  she  cried  bitterly.  "  I 
have  never  given  him  one  liberty—  Then 
she  paused,  for  over  her  swept  the  memory 
of  that  single  moment  on  the  ice-boat  when 
her  heart  had  rested  against  his — her  head 
pillowed  upon  his  shoulder.  Even  now,  it 
thrilled  her  with  an  emotion  as  sweet  as  it 


A    STAR    FALLS.  163 

was  strange.      Her  anger  gave  place  to  a 
profound  melancholy. 

Dimly,  and  with  a  sensation  approach 
ing  terror,  she  began  to  understand  Percy's 
own  feelings,  and  the  danger  of  his  position. 
She  could  not  blame  him — she  could  only 
blame  herself. 

''It  is  my  own  fault,"  she  said  to  her 
aching  heart.  "I  expected  too  much. 
There  is  no  possibility  of  an  enduring  friend 
ship  between  man  and  woman  in  this  world. 
That,  too,  is  as  transient  and  unreliable  as 
love.  And  yet — and  yet — how  can  I  give 
up  my  friend — how  can  I  ? '"  and,  burying 
her  face  in  her  hands,  she  sobbed  aloud. 

When  Percy  called  the  following  day, 
Mrs.  Butler  was  informed,  for  the  first  time, 
of  his  intended  return  to  America  the  suc 
ceeding  week. 

''Then  we  must  be  ready  to  accompany 
you,"  she  said.  "I  am  convinced  that  I 
have  only  a  short  time  to  live.  I  want  to 
die  in  my  own  land.  Dolores,  we  can  be 
ready — can  we  not — by  the  time  Percy 
goes  ? " 

"It  is  not  necessary,"  Dolores  replied, 


164  A     STAR    FALLS. 

blushing  painfully.  "  We  could  go  the  next 
week  as  well.  We  need  not  trouble  Mr. 
Durand  to  act  as  our  escort  on  this  voyage, 
Mrs.  Butler." 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  has  come  over 
you  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Butler,  staring  with  won 
dering  eyes  at  Dolores.  "You  speak  as  if 
Percy  were  a  stranger,  instead  of  our  almost 
brother  and  son.  I  am  sure  he  will  wait  for 
us,  if  we  cannot  go  next  week.  I  have  an 
unaccountable  dread  of  making  the  voyage 
unattended.  I  shah1  feel  far  safer  with  our 
friend  by  my  side  ;  and,  somehow,  I  am 
sure  we  shall  need  him." 

So  again  Percy's  earnest  desire  to  fly 
from  an  embarrassing  position  was  circum 
vented,  and  he  was  once  more  to  be  the 
companion  of  Dolores. 

Mrs.  Butler  seemed  to  rally  with  a  fever 
ish  excitement  as  they  made  their  prepara 
tions  for  departure.  Dolores  watched  her 
with  anxious  eyes. 

"I  fear  you  are  not  strong  enough  to 
take  the  sea-voyage  at  this  time  of  year," 
she  urged.  "  Will  you  not  wait  until  later 
in  the  season,  dear  Mrs.  Butler  ?" 


A     STAR    FALLS. 


But  Mrs.  Butler  would  not  listen.  "  I  can 
scarcely  wait  until  next  week  ;"  she  said, 
"I  could  not  possibly  delay  my  departure 
another  month.  It  would  make  me  ill, 
I  know.  Once  on  the  ocean  I  shall  grow 
stronger.'' 

But  instead  she  drooped,  and  failed  ;  and 
on  the  fifth  day  of  the  stormy  voyage,  Percy 
and  Dolores  stood  beside  her  shrouded  form 
listening  to  the  solemn  service  for  the  dead 
at  sea. 

They  were  standing  on  the  deck,  quite 
alone,  the  evening  before  they  reached 
harbor  ..... 

Dolores  drew  a  long  shivering  sigh. 
"  Oh/'  she  said,  "I  dread  the  sight  of  land  I 
It  seems  to  me,  I  am  going  into  some  arid 
desert,  where  I  shall  faint,  and  die,  from 
very  loneliness.  I  have  lost  my  friend  who 
was  almost  like  an  own  mother  to  me.  And 
now  I  am  to  lose  you.  Life  is  cruel  to  me. 
I  think  it  is  wicked  for  parents  to  bring 
children  into  this  world  of  trouble  and 
sorrow.  Oh,  why  was  I  ever  born  to  swell 
the  tide  of  miserable  suffering  humanity  ?" 

Percy  laid  his  hand  gently  on  her  arm. 


166  A     STAR    FALLS. 


"  You  do  not  lose  my  friendship,"  he  said. 
"Bemember,  I  shall  always  be  your  loyal 
friend,  ready  to  do  you  any  favor.  But  the 
close  companionship  and  intimate  association 
of  the  last  year  becomes  every  day  more 
impossible.  You  must  realize  it  yourself." 

"  I  do,  I  do,"  she  said,  and  then  she  put 
her  hands  over  her  face,  and  her  tears  fell 
through  the  slender  fingers. 

' '  I  wish  I  had  been  buried  in  the  sea, 
too  ;"  she  sobbed.  "  I  would  not  have  been  so 
much  alone  as  I  am  upon  this  dreary  earth, 
v»here  every  thing  dear  is  taken  from  me." 

He  turned  and  took  her  hands  down  from 
her  tear  wet  face,  and  drew  them  closely  in 
his  own. 

His  face  was  very  pale.  His  voice 
trembled  with  the  intensity  of  his  emotions. 

"  Listen  to  me  Dolores,"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
and  almost  stern  tone.  "I  think  we  under 
stand  and  respect  each  other's  views  per 
fectly.  I  think,  if  in  a  moment  of  profound 
sorrow  like  this,  we  disregarded  the  settled 
convictions  of  a  life-time,  that  we  should  in 
calmer  and  brighter  hours  regret  it.  But 
I  think  also,  that  when  two  people  have  be- 


A     STAR    FALLS.  167 

come  so  necessary  to  each  other's  lives  as  we 
have  become, — when  such  perfect  sympathy 
exists,  as  exists  between  us,— I  think  then, 
Dolores,  that  it  is  wicked  to  throw  aside  the 
happiness  which  might  be  theirs.  George 
Eliot  and  Mr.  Lewes  did  not  throw  it  away  ; 
Shelley  and  Mary  Godwin  did  not  ;  Mary 
Wollstonecraft  and  Imlay  did  not.  It  is 
simply  a  question  whether  a  woman  cares 
more  for  the  forms  of  Society,  and  the  laws 
made  by  men,  than  she  cares  for  the  love 
and  companionship  of  one  man.  I  have 
found  more  happiness  in  this  year  of  asso 
ciation  with  you,  than  I  supposed  it  possible 
for  life  to  afford  me.  You  are  to  me  an  ideal 
comrade  :  I  can  picture  years  of  such  com 
panionship  ;  happy  wanderings,  sweet  home 
comings,  quiet  evenings,  cosy  suppers,  and  all 
with  the  perfect  knowledge  that  it  might 
cease  at  any  time  either  or  both  wearied  of 
it ;  all  with  the  knowledge  that  the  individ 
ual  liberty  of  each  was  absolutely  un tram 
meled  ;  and  that,  when  love  ceased  to  exist — 
there  were  no  bonds  to  fetter.  It  seems  to 
me  that  happiness,  as  perfect  as  it  ever  exists 
in  this  world,  might  bless  such  an  union  of 


168  A     STAR    FALLS. 


two  lives.  Dolores,  will  you  accept  the  love 
and  protection  I  offer  you  ?" 

Her  hands  had  rested  passive  in  his,  while 
she  listened.  Her  face  was  turned  from  him, 
her  eyes  gazing  out  over  the  expanse  of  sea. 
Not  a  sail  was  in  sight.  One  solitary  gull 
flapped  lonesome  wings  above  the  inhospita 
ble  waves.  It  seemed  to  her  that  her  life 
was  like  that  gull's — the  world  stretched  be 
fore  her,  like  a  great  waste  of  water,  shore  - 
less  and  desolate.  She  thought  of  the  mo 
notonous  years  awaiting  her,  homeless  and 
alone  as  she  was  ;  of  the  ghastly  emptiness 
of  every  pleasure,  if  she  no  more  saw  his 
face,  no  more  heard  his  voice.  She  shivered 
slightly,  and  his  hands  tightened  their  clasp 
upon  her  own.  His  touch  thrilled  her  with 
a  sweet  inexplicable  joy.  She  ceased  to  reason 
or  think. 

Turning  her  white,  beautiful,  strangely 
calm  face  up  to  his,  she  answered  solemnly 
and  distinctly  : 

"I  will." 

And  just  then  a  star  shot  down  from 
heaven,  and  sank  into  the  dark  and  troubled 
waters  of  the  sea  below. 


ONE    MAN     AND     ONE    WOMAN.         169 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ONE   MAN  AND    ONE   WOMAN. 

ITTING  in  her  bijou  apartments, 
which  consisted  of  a  handsome 
"  Flat  "  in  a  quiet  and  respectable 
portion  of  New  York,  Dolores 
seemed  lost  in  pleasant  reverie,  when  her 
little  French  maid,  Lorrete,  appeared  before 
her. 

"  Everything  is  done  but  the  dusting  of 
this  room,  Madame,"  she  said,  in  her  native 
tongue.  ' '  Will  Madame  sit  in  the  boudoir 
now — " 

"No,  Lorrete,  you  can  go,"  Dolores 
answered,  speaking  French  with  as  fine  an 
accent  as  the  Parisian  nee  "  I  will  finish 
dusting,  and  as  I  am  to  dine  out  with  Mon 
sieur  to-day,  you  need  not  return  before 
to-morrow." 

Lorrete,  who  came  every  morning  to 
attend  to  the  domestic  duties  of  the  little 

8 


170    ONE  MAN  AND  ONE  WOMAN. 

menage,  gladly  took  her  conge,  and  Dol 
ores  flitted  gayly  about,  dust-brush  in  hand, 
singing  a  merry  snatch  of 'opera,  pausing  at 
every  sound  to  listen  for  a  familial'  step,  the 
perfect  picture  of  a  happy,  expectant  house 
wife  making  ready  for  the  return  of  a  loved 
one.  Presently  a  quick  footstep  bounded  up 
the  stairs,  and  Dolores  flew  to  the  door 
before  the  latch-key  could  turn  the  lock, 
swung  it  wide  open,  and  was  closely  clasped 
in  the  arms  of  Percy,  who  greeted  her  with 
a  gay  ki  Bon  matin,  cJtere  auiie  !  and  how 
have  you  been  all  these  days  ?"  Then,  notic 
ing  the  dust-brush  on  the  floor  beside  her: 
4'  Why  !  how  is  this  ?  has  Lorrete  failed  to 
make  her  appearance,  that  my  lady-love 
has  to  perform  her  duties  f 

"Oh,  no!  I  sent  her  away,"  smiled 
Dolores.  UI  knew  we  did  not  need  her 
to-day — and"  (shyly)  "  I  did  not  want  any 
third  person  to  mar  our  greeting  after  your 
long  absence." 

"  Long  !"  Percy  repeated,  laughing,  as 
he  threw  himself  into  an  easy  chair,  and 
drew  her  down  on  an  ottoman  at  his  side. 


ONE    MAN    AND    ONE     WOMAN.         171 


( '  Long  ?  three  days,  ma  petite  f   I  am  often 
absent  from  you  as  long  as  that." 

"  You  have  never  before  been  absent 
from  the  city  so  long  as  that,  in  this  year  of 
our  new  Kfe,"  she  said,  as  she  caressed  his 
hands,  "  without  taking  me  with  you,  man 
ami.'1' 

"  Well,  but  I  often  stay  away  from  this 
charming  nest,  that  length  of  time,  without 
seeing  you  !" 

"  So  long  as  I  know  you  are  in  the  city  I 
am  not  lonely.  The  air  I  breathe  seems 
impregnated  with  your  breath,  and  I  am 
happy  and  contented  to  await  your  com 
ing.  If  I  walk  down  street,  I  feel  a  kindly 
interest  in  the  throngs  of  people  I  meet, 
because  perchance  you  may  be  among 
them.  But  when  you  are  out  of  town 
the  whole  world  seems  depopulated.  Yes 
terday  I  walked  on  Broadway  a  little  while, 
but  the  people  all  looked  like  ghastly  phan 
toms  to  me.  Because  you  were  not,  I  knew, 
among  them,  there  seemed  to  be  no  life,  no 
beauty  in  the  moving  shapes.  I  hurried 
home  and  hid  myself  in  these  rooms,  so 
full  of  memories  of  you. " 


172   ONE  MAN  AND  ONE  WOMAN. 

Sweet  as  were  her  words  of  love  and 
devotion,  they  cast  a  faint  shadow  on  her 
listener's  face. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  allow  yourself  to  be  too 
melancholy  during  my  absence  !"  he  said. 
"  It  makes  me  sad  to  think  of  you  so  lonely, 
I  like  to  think  of  you  as  happy  and  con 
tented  always." 

"  Oh,  I  am,  lam  !"  she  hastened  to  reply. 
"  How  could  I  help  being  happy  in  this  ideal 
life  of  ours  ?  We  are  so  independent  of  the 
world,  so  in  harmony  with  our  own  princi 
ples,  so  true  to  each  other— Oh,  Percy  !  I 
do  not  think  two  people  could  be  happier 
then  we  are;  do  you  ?  Are  you  not  perfectly 
happy  with  me,  dear  ?" 

Just  lor  one  second  Percy  hesitated 
before  he  replied.  Then  he  met  the  anxious 
look  of  inquiry  in  Dolores'  eyes,  and  an 
swered  : 

"  Yes,  perfectly  :  or  rather,  I  am  happier 
in  my  companionship  with  you  than  I  have 
been  in  many  years.  I  know  my  life  is  bet 
ter,  too,  in  many  ways,  and  my  thoughts 
fairer,  than  in  my  old  restless  days  of  adven 
ture.  Yet,  of  course,  no  lot  is  without  its 


ONE     MAN     AND     ONE     WOMAN.         173 

annoyances  and  troubles.  Did  you  ever 
think  how  strange  it  is,  that  man  expects  a 
whole  eternity  of  unalloyed  bliss,  from  a 
Ruler  who  denies  him  a  single  month  of  it 
here  ?" 

Dolores  shook  her  golden  head. 

i '  I  used  to  speculate  a  great  deal  about 
the  next  world,"  she  said.  "  I  read  all  kinds 
of  books  on  the  subject,  and  I  grew  very 
much  confused.  Finally.  I  rested  back  on  the 
orthodox  ideas,  as  quite  as  sensible  as  any. 
I  am  sure  the  world  and  human  nature  is 
inclined  to  evil.  I  think  it  is  a  misfortune 
to  exist,  and  that  we  need  a  future  life  to 
repay  us  for  all  wre  endure  here.  And  I 
am  sure  it  will  require  a  Mediator  to  ever 
reconcile  the  Creator  to  us  or  to  give  us 
eternal  joy  :  but  we  can  attain  it  if  we  seek 
the  way." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  we  can  attain  any 
joys  we  have  not  earned  here,"  Percy  replied. 
"  I  do  not  believe  in  sudden  conversions,  or 
death-bed  repentance,  or  being  cleansed  by 
blood.  That  faith  gives  a  man  too  much 
latitude  altogether.  Every  violated  princi 
ple,  every  indulged  appetite,  every  selfish  or 


174    ONE  MAN  AND  ONE  WOMAN. 


mean  act  or  thought,  I  think  will  count 
against  us  on  the  last  day,  no  matter  how 
we  repent  at  death's  door,  or  how  we  cry 
out  to  be  saved.  Salvation  depends  upon 
ourselves,  and  the  use  we  make  of  our  time 
on  earth.  We  are  shaping  our  spirits  by 
our  daily  lives  while  in  the  body.  Just  as 
we  have  shaped  them — beautiful  or  hideous, 
they  will  appear  before  God  when  our  bod 
ies  fall  away  and  leave  them  bare.  We 
cannot  in  a  moment's  space,  expect  any 
power  to  remove  the  scars  we  have  made 
by  a  life -time  of  wrongdoing.  It  would  not 
be  a  just  power  if  it  did.  Why  should  the 
man  who  has  lived  in  sin  all  his  life  be 
cleansed  by  crying  to  Christ  on  his  death 
bed—and  permitted  to  enter  into  just  such 
joys  as  the  good  man  has  earned  by  a  life 
of  noble  deeds  ?  I  do  not  believe  in  a  creed 
like  that." 

Dolores  put  a  soft  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"  Let  us  not  talk  religion,"  she  said.  "  I 
fear  you  are  a  sad  heretic.  Yet  I  agree  with 
you  that  every  violated  principle  counts 
against  us.  But  we  need  not  fear  death  on 
that  account,  Percy.  I  am  living  up  to 


ONE     MAN     AND     ONE     WOMAN.         175 


my  highest  convictions  of  right  :  are  not 
you  r 

Again  Percy  hesitated.  Then  he  laid  his 
hand  on  her  golden  head,  and  looked  gravely 
in  her  sweet  eyes,  as  he  answered  : 

"Sometimes,  Dolores,  I  do  not  feel  that  I 
am.  Sometimes  the  fears  that  yon  may 
one  day  repent  our  independent  course  of 
action,  together  with  the  fact  that  we  are 
obliged  to  hide  so  much  of  our  companion 
ship  from  the  world,  weighs  upon  me  like  a 
burden." 

She  caught  his  hand  and  held  it  against 
her  cheek. 

"It  must  not,  it  must  not  !"  she  cried. 
' '  I  shall  never  repent  these  perfect  days  with 
you  -never.  We  have  violated  no  principles. 
All  laws  are  made  by  man,  and  every  nation 
has  its  own  peculiar  ideas  and  rules  upon 
this  subject.  I  believe  God  blesses  and  ap 
proves  of  our  companionship.  You  tell  me 
that  your  life  is  better  for  it,  and  I  know  I 
am  tenfold  more  unselfish,  and  womanly, 
and  sympathetic  than  ever  before.  Surely, 
we  have  been  a  benefit  and  strength  to  each 
other.  As  for  secrecy,  I  am  ready,  and  wil  • 


176    ONE  MAN  AND  ONE  WOMAN. 


ling  to  meet  the  world  at  any  time.  Percy, 
—proudly,  as  George  Eliot  met  it.  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  my  love  for  you,  or  my  devotion 
to  you.  I  have  never  asked  for  secrecy." 

Percy  flushed  slightly. 

"I  know  you  have  not/'  he  answered. 
"  But  the  world  condemns,  without  trial,  who 
ever  dares  defy  its  opinions.  Were  we  to 
publicly  declare  our  ideas,  we  should  he  sub 
jected  to  a  thousand  annoyances  which  we 
escape  now.  Cranks  and  villains  would 
make  no  distinction  between  our  sweet  com 
radeship  and  their  own  immoral  liven-,  while 
Society  would  exile  us  wholly,  and  people 
in  general  would  cry  us  down.  For  your 
sake,  as  well  as  for  my  own  social  and  busi 
ness  interests,  it  seems  wiser  to  keep  our 
pleasant  seclusion." 

"Yet   Society  is  full  of  disgraceful  in 
trigue — the  very  best  of  it,"  cried  Dolores, 
with  scorn.     "The  very  people  who  would 
condemn  us  for  our  ideas,  are  hiding  shame 
ful  infidelities  in  their  own  lives." 

''Some  of  them,"  Percy  admitted,  "  not 
all.  Many  a  man  among  my  acquaintances, 
who  would  mark  my  name  off  his  visiting 


ONE     MAN    AND     ONE     WOMAN.         177 


list,  if  we  were  to  make  our  beliefs  public, 
is  himself  similarly  situated,  save  that  he 
is  also  deceiving  a  wife  ;  while  I  wrong  no 
third  party.  But  in  the  eyes  of  men,  you 
know,  the  sin  consists  in  being  found  out." 

;'  Thank  heaven,  I  am  not  in  the  position 
of  one  of  those  deceived  wives  f  cried  Dolores, 
fervently.  ' '  At  the  first  n:  oment  you  tire  of 
me,  or  that  your  heart  strays  away  from 
me,  you  are  free  to  go,  without  hesitating, 
and  without  legal  proceedings.  I  should  not 
want  you  to  remain  after  you  ceased  to  love 
me.  You  know  my  maxim  is,  '  those  who 
love  are  wed,  and  those  who  no  longer  love 
are  no  longer  wed.' ' 

Dolores  really  believed  what  she  said.  It 
is  so  easy  to  be  liberal  and  broad  in  our 
theories,  before  our  weak,  human  hearts 
are  put  upon  the  rack. 

Percy,  who  enjoyed  the  sensation  of  lib 
erty  which  her  words  gave  him.  felt  also 
moved  by  an  affectionate  admiration  for  the 
lovely  speaker.  He  reached  out  his  arms 
and  drew  her  fair  head  against  his  heart. 

"I  shall  never  tire  of  you,  my  royal 
lady  !"  he  said,  kissing  her  brow  and  cheek. 


178    ONE  MAN  AND  ONE  WOMAN. 

"  You  combine  all  the  qualities  necessary  to 
keep  me  true.  You  are  a  bright  mental 
companion,  a  beautiful  picture  to  my  eye, 
and  a  fond  heart-friend.  And  then  you 
never  hamper  my  liberty,  or  fret  me  by  ask 
ing  where  I  have  been,  or  whither  I  am 
going,  or  why  I  have  not  come  home  sooner, 
as  so  many  wives  do.  I  appreciate  your 
delightful  good  sense,  when  I  see  how  some 
of  my  friends  are  martyrs  to  the  whims  of 
exacting  women." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  Dolores  replied,  "that 
a  woman  makes  a  great  mistake,  who 
expects  a  man  to  give  up  all  his  old  friends, 
and  pleasures,  and  devote  every  moment  of 
his  life  to  her  :  and  to  account  to  her  for 
every  hour  passed  out  of  her  presence.  It 
must  be  terribly  galling  to  a  man  who  has 
been  accustomed  to  his  liberty .  I  think  men 
are  like  some  spirited  horses — the  tighter  you 
draw  the  rein,  the  more  reckless  their  pace  : 
while  with  an  easy  rein  they  jog  along  very 
sedately.  But  speaking  of  our  happiness, 
dear,  I  read  a  little  poem  the  other  day  in  an 
old  book,  which  reminded  me  of  our  love. 
May  I  read  it  to  you  ?" 


ONE     MAN     AND     ONE     WOMAN.         179 


Percy  looked  at  his  watch  : 

ik'Yes,  it'  it  is  not  very  long  :"  he  said. 
* '  We  must  he  off  for  our  drive  in  half  an 
hour." 

Dolores  ran  and  brought  an  old  magazine 
from  her  ebony  desk,  and,  resuming  her 
place  at  Percy's  knees,  read  the  poem. 

"  The  name  of  the  author  is  not  given," 
she  said  ;  ' '  but  it  seemed  to  me  whoever 
wrote  it,  had  loved  as  we  love,  Percy — with 
every  faculty  of  his  being.  It  is  called 

THREE-FOLD. 

Somewhere  I'vo   read   a  thoughtful  mind's  reflec 
tion  : 

"  All  perfect  things  are  three-fold:"  and  I  know 
Our  love  has  this  rare  symbol  of  perfection  : 

The  brain's  response,  the  warm  blood's  rapturous 

glow, 
The  soul's  sweet  language,  silent  and  unspoken. 

All  these  unite  us,  with  a  deathless  tie. 
For  when  our  frail,  ciay  tenement  is  broken, 

Our  spirits  will  be  lovers  still,  on  high. 

My  dearest  wish,  you  speak  before  I  word  it. 
You  understand  the  workings  of  my  heart. 


180    ONE  MAN  AND  ONE  WOMAN. 

My  soul's   thought,  breathed    where  only  God  has 
heard  it, 

You  fathom  Aviih  your  strange  divining  art. 
And  like  a  lire,  that  cheers,  and  lights,  and  blesses, 

Arid  floods  a  mansion  full  of  happy  heat, 
So  does  the  subtle  warmth  of  your  caresses, 

Pervade  me  with  a  rapture,  keen  as  sweet. 

And  so  sometimes,  as  you  and  I  together 

.  Exult  in  all  dear  love's  three-fold  delights, 
I  cannot  help  but  vaguely  wonder  whether 

When  our  freed  souls,  attain  their  spirit  heights, 
E'en  if  we  reach  that  upper  realm  where  God  is, 

And  iind  the  tales  of  heavenly  glory  true, 
I  wonder  if  we  shall  not  miss  our  bodies, 

And  long,  at  times,  for  hours  on  earth  we  knew. 

As  now,  we  sometimes  pray  to  leave  our  prison 

And  soar  beyond  all  physical  demands, 
So  may  we  not  sigh,  when  we  have  arisen, 

For  just  one  old-time  touch  of  lips  and  hands  ? 
I    know,    dear    heart,  a  thought   like  this  seems 
daring 

Concerning  God's  vast  Government  above, 
Yet,  even  There,  I  shrink  from  wholly  sparing 

One  element,  from  this,  our  Three-fold  Love. 

"  What  a  very  queer  idea  !"  commented 


ONE     MAN     AND     ONE     WOMAN.         181 

Percy,  with  a  slight  frown,  as  Dolores 
finished  reading  the  poem.  "It  has  the 
merit  of  being  original,  at  least,  but  I  cannot 
say  that  I  like  it." 

"  Still  it  expresses  a  great  deal  :  the  per 
son  who  composed  it  must  have  compre 
hended  every  phase  of  love.  Do  you  not 
think  so  ?" 

"  It  is  quite  as  likely  that  the  author  had 
never  loved  at  all,  save  in  imagination.  And 
I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  ever  longing  for  my 
body  after  I  once  get  through  with  its 
troublesome  demands.  It  is  too  material." 

Dolores  looked  woiideringly  at  Percy. 

"  What  a  strange  man  you  are  !"  she  said, 
"  After  all,  I  do  not  think  I  fully  understand 
you.  Sometimes  you  shock  me  with  your 
lack  of  orthodoxy,  and  again  I  feel  as  if  your 
spiritual  nature  was  far  beyond  my  own  in 
its  development.  You  are  a  paradox,  mon 
ami.  But  there  is  the  carriage,  and  I  must 
put  on  iny  hat  and  gloves." 


182  SUDDEN    FLIGHT. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

SUDDEN  FLIGHT. 

h!S  Percy  ran  down  the  stairs  to  the 
street  door  one  day,  his  mind 
was  in  a  very  contented  state. 

This  unfettered  life  with  a 
thoroughly  congenial  companion,  who  lived 
wholly  for  him,  and  yet  laid  not  one 
restriction  upon  his  liberty— what  could  he 
more  delightful  ? 

He  had  all  the  comforts  and  benefits  of  a 
home,  with  none  of  the  care  or  monotony 
of  domestic  life. 

"I  am  the  most  fortunate  of  men,"  he 
mused,  as  he  stopped  on  the  lower  landing 
to  light  his  cigar.  ' '  Among  the  thousands 
in  this  city  who  have  their  agreeable  com 
panions  hidden  away  like  choice  gems  from 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  I  doubt  if  there  is 
another  Dolores.  So  beautiful,  so  true,  so 
sensible,  and  so  perfectly  satisfied  with  her 


SUDDEN    FLIGHT.  183 

situation,  Surely  I  am  an  ungrateful  dog  to 
ever  feel  discontented  and  restless,  as  I  do  so 
often." 

He  opened  the  street  door,  and  came  face 
to  face  with  Homer  Orton. 

They  greeted  each  other  cordially,  and 
passed  down  the  street  together. 

One  of  the  first  remarks  the  journalist 
made,  put  to  flight  all  Percy's  sense  of  happy 
security  and  seclusion,  and  rendered  him 
miserable  during  the  entire  day. 

"By  the  way,"  Homer  said,  "  do  you 
know  if  Miss  King,  at  whose  rooms  we  met 
in  Paris,  is  in  New  York  ?  I  was  almost 
positive  I  saw  her  on  Broadway,  recently." 

Percy's  heart  fairly  chilled  with  fear. 
Not  for  the  world  would  he  have  Homer 
Orton  know,  that  Dolores  was  living  in  the 
very  block  from  which  he  had  just  emerged. 
For  her  sake,  for  both  their  sakes,  this  must 
not  be. 

"It  does  not  seem  possible,  that  it  could 
have  been  Miss  King :"  he  answered,  eva 
sively.  "  I  gave  her  my  address  in  Europe, 
and  she  promised  faithfully  to  inform  me 


184  SUDDEN    FLIGHT. 


at  once,  if  she  returned  to  America  at  any 
time,  even  for  a  brief  visit." 

"Well,  I  might  have  been  mistaken," 
Homer  continued,  unsuspectingly.  "But  it 
certainly  was  a  striking  resemblance.  What 
a  beautiful  creature  she  was  !  Too  bad  she 
was  so  carried  away  with  her  hobbies, 
though.  I  used  to  think  you  might  be  able 
to  talk  her  out  of  them,  if  any  one  could,  and 
overcome  her  objections  to  marriage." 

"lam  not  a  marrying  man,'' Percy  an 
swered,  coldly,  "and  I  respected  the  lady's 
views  too  much  to  wish  her  to  change  them. 
Good  morning." 

He  felt  annoyed  and  irritated  all  day,  at 
the  recollection  of  his  morning  encounter 
with  Homer  Orton. 

But  his  annoyance  settled  into  absolute 
alarm,  when,  two  days  later,  he  met  the 
journalist  again,  precisely  at  the  same  place. 

"Are  your  rooms  in  this  block?"  asked 
Homer,  in  some  surprise,  as  he  greeted  his 
friend.  "  If  so,  we  are  near  neighbors.  I  am 
boarding  in  the  block  above. " 

"No  I  have  been  calling  on  a  friend." 
Percy  answered,  boldly.  "He  is  ill,  and  I 


SUDDEN    FLIGHT.  185 

drop  in  often  to  see  him."  And  then  he 
hastened  to  change  the  conversation. 

He  pondered  on  the  situation  all  that  day. 
Something  evidently  must  be  done.  With 
the  journalist  so  near,  Dolores  was  liable  to 
be  seen  by  him  any  day,  and  then,  who 
could  say,  that  the  story  might  not  appear 
with  large  head  lines  in  the  morning  papers. 
It  would  make  an  excellent  sensation  arable. 
But  even  if  the  journalist  should  not  make 
it  public,  the  very  fact  that  he  knew  of 
Dolores'  presence  in  America  would  destroy 
all  their  comfort. 

Before  night,  he  resolved  upon  an  ex 
pedient.  Recently  he  had  been  making 
some  investments  in  South  America.  He 
had  intended  to  visit  Valparaiso  to  look  after 
his  affairs,  sometime  in  the  future.  Why 
not  go  at  once,  and  take  Dolores  with  him  2 
She  was  the  most  charming  of  traveling 
companions,  and  the  journey,  which  might 
occupy  two  or  three  months,  if  they  chose  to 
make  it,  would  be  one  more  delightful  ex 
perience  to  add  to  their  many  adventures. 

And  the  journalist  would  no  doubt  have 
changed  his  location  ere  their  return.  News- 


186  SUDDEN     FLIGHT. 

paper  men  never  remained  long  in  one  place, 
he  knew. 

Before  another  week  had  elapsed  the  two 
comrades  set  forth  upon  their  journey. 

*  *  "A-  TV  W  -VV 

It  was  nearly  sunset.  Two  Americans, 
with  native  guides,  who  had  been  leisurely 
making  the  wonderful  trip  from  Arequipa 
to  Santiago,  in  Spanish  saddles,  were  ap 
proaching  a  canyon,  nine  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea  level.  All  day  their  gen 
tle  mules  had  carefully  picked  their  way 
on  mere  shelves  of  rock,  twisting  back 
and  forth  through  fissures  and  crevices  that 
presented  a  kaleidoscopic  scene  to  their 
wondering  eyes. 

Suddenly  emerging  from  the  narrow 
mountain  pass,  a  valley  burst  upon  their 
view,  like  some  beautifully-set  stage  scene 
when  the  curtain  rises.  The  area  of  the 
valley  was  not  more  than  three  acres : 
but  all  around  it  were  the  giant  steeples  of 
Andean  granite  rising  in  tapering  lines  to 
the  very  clouds  :  every  crevice,  every  seam, 
covered  with  a  magnificent  verdure  of  trail 
ing  vines,  hundreds  of  feet  in  length,  and 


SUDDEN     FLIGHT.  187 

heavy  with  delicate-leaved  blossoms.  At 
the  base  of  these  mountains  the  cactus  grows 
to  perfection  ;  such  gorgeousiiess  of  bloom 
bewilders  the  credulity  of  travelers.  Ferns 
that  are  indescribable  in  their  sensitiveness 
of  texture,  interlaced  this  marvelous  floral 
display  :  and  from  various  directions  out 
from  the  fissured  rocks,  flashed  and  sparkled 
bright  rivulets,  as  they  leaped  from  point  to 
point  until  lost  in  some  underground  cavern. 

The  guides  swung  the  hammocks ;  the 
mules  were  unloaded  and  allowed  the  free 
dom  of  the  plateau.  Off  under  a  young 
palm  the  kettles  were  swinging,  while  sup 
per  was  prepared  for  the  tired  and  hungry 
travelers. 

As  they  arose  from  their  repast  of  boiled 
yam,  fried  plantain,  smoked  fish,  and  cocoa 
milk,  with  desert  of  mangoes  and  pines, 
Dolores  noticed  the  guides  busily  setting  fire 
to  a  quantity  of  shrubs  they  had  gathered 
during  the  day.  This  shrub  was  heavily 
charged  with  capsicum  qualities,  and  at 
once  filled  the  air  with  a  stifling  cayenne 
odor. 

"  What  in  the  world  are  those  men  do- 


188  SUDDEN     FLIGHT. 

ing  ?"  asked  Dolores,  with  her  handkerchief 
to  her  mouth.  "  Do  you  suppose  they  are 
observing  some  religious  rite  ?" 

Percy  laughed  as  he  assisted  Dolores  into 
her  hammock,  and  swung  himself  rato  his 
own  close  beside  her. 

i '  I  fancy  the  ceremony  you  see  will  be  of 
more  practical  benefit  to  us,  than  any  relig 
ious  rite  ;"  he  said.  k'  The  guides  are  burning 
the  poteke — a  native  shrub,  which  brings 
sure  deliverance  from  insects ;  lizards, 
gnats,  bugs  and  reptiles  of  all  descriptions 
take  an  unceremonious  departure  when  that 
peppery  perfume  fills  the  air.  We  shall  be 
insured  of  a  good  night's  rest  by  that 
means." 

' '  Yes,  if  we  are  not  choked  to  death  by 
the  odor,"  Dolores  mumbled  from  the  folds 
of  her  handkerchief. 

"Oh,  Percy,  look!" 

Percy  looked  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
Dolores,  and  his  eyes  were  greeted  by  a 
phenomenon  seen  only  in  the  plateaus  of  the 
Andes.  It  was  tho  duplicating  lines  of  the 
departing  sun,  upon  the  castellated  rocks,  as 
they  pierced  between  the  apexes  and  the 


SUDDEN    FLIGHT.  189 

basin.  They  reached  in  like  silver  threads, 
then  flushed  to  gold  and  amber,  as  they  fell 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  valley  and  rested 
in  a  trinity  of  colors  upon  the  wonderful  foli 
age,  or  hung  like  rainbows  above  the  glit 
tering  brooks. 

Percy  and  Dolores  gazed,  silent  and 
almost  breathless,  while  the  long  lines  of 
glory  changed  to  softest  amethyst  and  gray. 
The  guides  were  sleeping  soundly  ;  the  tired 
mules  were  knee-deep  in  wild  clover  ;  in 
among  the  leaves  of  the  india-rubber  trees,  a 
bright-plumaged  arajojo  sang  out  his  saucy 
Ta-ha  ha— Ta-ha-ha. 

Dolores  reached  out  her  hand  and  clasped 
Percy's,  in  the  fading  glory  of  the  wonderful 
sunset, 

"Oh,  love!"  she  sighed,  "I  wish  God 
would  let  us  die  to-night,  life  is  so  perfect. 
And  something  tells  me  we  are  never  to  be 
so  happy  on  earth  again." 


190  A     MAN     AND     TWO     WOMEN. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

A  MAN  AND   TWO  WOMEN, 

OON  after  their  return,  Percy  was 
called  to  Centerville,  a  large  vil 
lage  a  few  hours'  ride  from  New 
York.  He  had  established  a  Mr. 
Griffith  there  in  business,  some  months  pre 
vious  to  his  South  American  trip,  and  now 
their  affairs  needed  overhauling  and  exam 
ining. 

Being  detained  over  Sunday,  Percy  stroll 
ed  out  for  a  walk  after  his  late  breakfast. 
Centerville  was  not  well  provided  w^ith 
schools  or  other  public  buildings  ;  but  like 
the  majority  of  large  villages,  it  boasted 
several  imposing  church  edifices. 

The  day  was  warm,  and  crowned  with  an 
Indian  summer  haze.  As  he  strolled  by  a 
costly  stone  temple  of  worship,  out  through 
the  open  windows  floated  a  voice  so  pure,  so 
beautiful,  so  magnetic,  that  he  paused  invol- 


A    MAN     AND    TWO     WOMEN.          191 

untarily  to  listen.  It  was  a  woman's  voice, 
singing  the  old  familiar  hymn,  but  it  held  a 
new  meaning  for  him  as  he  listened  : 

"  Guide  me,  oh,  thou  Great  Jehovah, 

Pilgrim  through  a  barren  land  ! 
I  am  weak,  but  thou  art  mighty, 

Lead  me  with  thy  powerful  hand." 

Never  in  his  life  had  Percy  so  realized  his 
own  finiteness,  never  had  he  so  reverenced 
the  Supreme  Majesty  of  the  Creator,  as  while 
he  listened  to  that  voice,  singing  the  familiar 
words  with  indescribable  pathos  and  pas 
sion. 

Percy's  fearless  criticisms  of  creeds  and 
dogmas  had  won  for  him,  among  people  of 
illiberal  thought,  the  undeserved  reputation 
of  an  atheist. 

The  world  is  full  of  good-hearted,  but 
short-sighted  people,  who  brand  any  man  as 
an  infidel  or  lunatic,  whose  ideas  of  divine 
worship  differ  from  their  own. 

Percy's  whole  nature  was  deeply  rever 
ential  ;  but  his  conceptions  of  religion  were 
too  high  and  broad  for  the  ordinary  mind, 
accustomed  to  the  well-worn  ruts  of 


192          A     MAN     AND     TWO     WOMEN. 


thought  to  understand  or  even  grasp.  In 
his  early  boyhood,  he  had  believed  in  every 
thing ;  church,  woman,  home,  happiness. 
But  one  woman  had  wrecked  him  in  mid- 
ocean  ;  and  ho  had  thrown  overboard  all 
his  old  faiths  in  things  human  and  divine, 
barely  saving  his  life  and  reason. 

Then,  as  time  passed  on,  and  his  hurts 
hoalocl,  his  inborn  reverence  for  Something 
over  and  beyond  himself  returned.  His  be 
lief  in  a  future  life  was  as  fixed  and  firm  as 
it  was  vague  and  undefined.  But  of  teutimes 
ho  felt  conscious  of  the  near  presence  of  his 
mother — the  mother  who  had  died  when  he 
was  a  youth  and  most  needed  her.  And  he 
knew  that  she  lived,  and  loved  him,  and 
watched  over  him.  It  was  her  occasional 
presence,  which  convinced  him,  beyond  the 
possibility  of  doubt,  that  death  was  only  the 
gateway  to  a  new  life. 

Always,  when  he  was  untrue  to  himself 
or  his  principles,  her  spirit  fled  away  from 
him,  and  again  she  came  so  near,  he  could 
almost  hear  the  rustle  of  her  wings. 

It  was  long  months  now,  since  she  had 
come  to  him.  Never  in  his  dreams,  never 


A    MAN    AND    TWO     WOMEN.          193 

in  his  waking  hours  ;  and  the  sense  of  loneli 
ness  and  longing  was  sometimes  overwhelm 
ing. 

But  now,  while  he  listened  to  that  unseen 
singer's  voice,  his  mother  came  back  to  him  ; 
there,  in  the  golden  haze  of  that  Indian-sum 
mer  morning,  he  felt  as  conscious  of  her  near 
presence  as  if  his  eyes  beheld  her. 

"  Bread  of  heaven,  Bread  of  heaven, 
Feed  rue  till  I  want  no  more/' 

sang  the  voice,  and  it  seemed  to  ring  up  to 
the  very  courts  of  heaven  with  a  great  cry 
of  hunger  and  longing. 

Never  had  Percy  so  felt  the  craving  in 
his  own  soul  for  heavenly  manna,  and  for 
something  beyond  and  greater  than  himself 
on  which  to  lean,  as  at  this  moment. 

It  seemed  to  him,  that  he  could  not  rest 
until  he  had  looked  upon  the  face  of  the 
singer. 

He  entered  the  church,  and  sat  down  in 
an  unoccupied  pew  near  the  door. 

The  singing  had  ceased,   and  from  his 
position  the  choir  was  entirely  hidden  from 
view  by  a  curtain. 
9 


194          A    MAN     AND     TWO     WOMEN. 

Percy  sat  through  the  long  and  tedious 
sermon,  and  listened  with  impatience  to  the 
dreary,  uncomforting  discourse. 

u  No  wonder,"  thought  he,  "'that  the 
singer  put  so  much  pleading  into  her  cry 
for  'Bread  of  heaven,'  if  she  derives  her 
spiritual  sustenance  from  the  droppings  of 
this  sanctuary.  The  weary  soul  would 
faint  by  the  wayside,  who  depended  upon 
such  food." 

The  sermon  seemed  interminable,  but  it 
ended  at  last,  to  the  gratification  of  the  tired 
congregation.  Again  Percy  heard  that  voice 
of  heavenly  beauty,  soaring  up  to  the  very 
Throne  in  song ;  but,  strive  as  he  might, 
he  could  catch  no  glimpse  of  the  singer. 

He  left  the  church,  soothed,  uplifted,  but 
disappointed. 

As  he  sat  in.  his  room  at  the  hotel,  late  in 
the  afternoon,  writing  letters,  Mr.  Griffith 
called. 

"I  saw  you  at  church  this  morning,"  he 
said,  "and  my  wife  sent  me  around  to  bring 
you  home  to  tea.  She  thought  it  might  be 
dull  for  you  here  at  the  hotel,  and  though 
we  are  plain  folks,  we  shall  be  glad  to  have 


A    MAN    AND    TWO    WOMEN.          1Q5 


you  come  and  take  common  fare  with 
us." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  Percy  answered, 
but  I  ought  to  finish  these  letters  "- 

"Never  mind  the  letters,"  insisted  Mr. 
Griffith.  * '  My  wife  will  feel  hurt  if  you  don't 
come  ;  and  we  can  promise  you  some  good 
music,  at  least.  Maybe  you  noticed  our 
soprano  singer  in  the  choir  this  morning. 
She  boards  with  us,  and  we  think  she's 
about  as  good  as  any  of  your  city  singers. 
There  is  no  service  to-night  at  the  church, 
and  when  there  is  not,  she  always  sings  for 
us  at  home.  People  fairly  hang  on  the  gates 
to  listen.  I  hope  you'll  come." 

"  Thank  you  !"  said  Percy,  with  alacrity, 
rising  and  pushing  aside  his  writing  materi 
als.  "I  will." 

When  he  stood  face  to  face  with  Helena 
Maxon — for  it  was  our  old  friend,  whom  we 
greet  again  after  more  than  five  years — • 
Percy  felt  a  slight  disappointment.  It  had 
seemed  to  him,  that  such  a  voice  must  be 
long  to  a  creature  as  fair  as  the  morning— 
an  ethereal  being,  all  gold  and  blue  and 
white,  like  Aurora  herself. 


196         A    MAN    AND    TWO    WOMEN. 

Instead,  he  saw  a  shapely  form,  inclined 
to  be  voluptuous  in  its  curves,  and  a  face  ab 
solutely  without  tints ;  a  dusky  head,  and 
sombre  eyes,  and  a  skin  like  the  brown  side 
of  a  peach,  and  perfectly  devoid  of  color, 
save  in  the  full  red  lips  of  the  rather  large 
mouth. 

"Her  face  is  too  round  for  beauty,"  he 
said,  in  his  swift  mental  analysis,  "and  her 
mouth  and  nose  are  not  classic.  But  what 
exquisite  care  she  bestows  upon  her  person  ; 
what  perfectly-kept  hands  and  teeth  and 
hair  1  She  radiates  purity  and  cleanliness 
like  a  water-lily.  And  where  did  she  learn 
her  matchless  charm  and  manner  ?" 

As  the  conversation  progressed,  Percy 's 
wonder  grew.  Miss  Maxon's  ready  flow  of 
words,  her  simple  dignity  and  her  animation, 
rendered  her  positively  charming.  He  soon 
forgot  her  absence  of  tints ;  for  as  she 
talked,  the  light  of  her  spirit  seemed  to  shine 
through  and  brighten  her  face  like  sunlight 
shining  through  an  autumn  leaf.  And  the 
strange  peculiarity  of  her  eyes  presently  at 
tracted  him,  and  fascinated  him  with  their 
mesmeric  spell.  So  soon  as  Helena  became 


A    MAN    AND     TWO     WOMEN.          197 

interested  in  any  subject  on  which  she  con 
versed,  or  in  her  music,  or  in  the  personality 
of  her  listeners,  a  delicate  film,  which  had 
almost  the  appearance  of  smoke  seen  rising 
over  the  face  of  the  heavens  at  night,  com 
pletely  enveloped  her  dark  eyes.  It  seemed 
to  shut  out  all  material  objects  from  her 
vision  as  if  her  soul  drew  a  curtain  before 
her  sight,  that  it  might  better  contemplate 
the  wonders  visible  only  to  spiritual  eyes. 
Yet  through  this  curtain  you  felt  conscious 
that  her  soul  looked  into  yours. 

It  is  a  peculiarity  seen  only  in  the  eyes 
of  those  possessed  of  clairvoyant  powers ; 
and  it  riveted  Percy's  gaze  upon  Helena's 
face,  and  fascinated  him  as  no  mere  physical 
beauty  had  ever  fascinated  him. 

By  and  by  she  sang,  and  again  Percy  felt 
himself  lifted  up  into  a  new,  rarified  atmo 
sphere,  while  he  listened. 

It  was  as  if  his  soul  projected  itself  out 
of  his  body,  and  floated  up  on  the  waves  of 
her  voice  close  to  the  spirit  world. 

Percy  never  knew  quite  how  the  conver 
sation  began  :  but  after  she  had  resumed  her 
seat,  he  suddenly  found  himself  telling  her 


198          A    MAN    AND     TWO     WOMEN. 


how    peculiarly  her    singing    had    affected 
him. 

"  No  doubt  you  will  think  me  a  sort  of  a 
lunatic!"  he  said.  "But  while  you  sang 
this  morning,  it  seemed  to  me  that  my 
mother,  who  has  been  dead  since  my  early 
manhood,  came  near  to  me.  The  impres 
sion  lasted  throughout  the  day  :  and  it  has 
brought  me  an  inexpressible  happiness." 

A  sudden  light  transfigured  Helena's 
face,  rendering  it  absolutely  beautiful.  She 
leaned  slightly  forward,  with  her  hands 
clasped  before  her. 

"  Then  you  are  susceptible  to  these  impres 
sions  '?"  she  said.  ' '  I  am  always  pleased  and 
interested  in  meeting  any  one  who  is.  There 
are  so  few  people  in  the  world  who  realize 
how  thin  the  veil  is  which  divides  us  from 
our  dear  ones.  Why,  Mr.  Durand,  often 
when  I  am  singing,  I  not  only  feel,  I  know 
that  my  father  and  my  mother  are  close 
beside  me,  enveloping  me  with  their  love 
and  sympathy.  And  then  I  sing,  as  I  never 
sing  at  other  times.  The  exhilaration  of 
their  presence  fills  me  with  a  strength  and 


A    MAN    AND     TWO     WOMEN.          199 

ecstacy  that  is  indescribable.  I  feel  almost 
more  than  human." 

She  ceased  speaking  suddenly,  and  her 
face  was  luminous  with  a  divine  light.  A 
subtle  warmth  and  fragrance  seemed  to 
emanate  from  her  ;  Percy  felt  thrilled  and 
magnetized,  with  an  influence  as  mysterious 
as  it  was  powerful. 

"  Then  your  parents  are  not  living  ?"  he 
said,  gently. 

"Not  here,"  she  answered,  with  a  sad 
smile.  "  They  died  in  one  year.  My  father 
was  the  victim  of  a  violent  fever  which 
devastated  our  town  :  my  mother  grieved 
herself  into  the  grave  a  few  months  later. 
It  had  been  a  perfect  union  ;  they  were 
mental  comrades,  spiritual  affinities,  physi 
cal  mates.  They  could  not  exist  apart.  It 
was  better  that  she  joined  him  so  soon." 

"  It  left  you  very  much  alone  ?"  Percy 
spoke  softly,  scarcely  knowing  what  to 
say  in  presence  of  such  a  bereavement. 

"Yes,  and  no,"  she  answered.  "If  1 
had  believed  they  were  lying  in  the  earth 
waiting  the  Judgment  Day,  scores,  thou 
sands  or  millions  of  years  hence,  I  should 


200          A     MAN     AND     TWO     WOMEN. 

have  been  crazed  with  my  desolation.  But 
my  faith  was  so  comforting  to  me,  however 
unorthodox,  that  I  have  found  strength  and 
happiness  in  it." 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is  ?"  urged  Percy,  earn 
estly,  almost  eagerly.  "These  subjects 
interest  and  fascinate  me.  Long  ago,  my 
intellect  rejected  old  dogmas.  Yet  I  find  it 
difficult  to  know  what  to  believe.  The 
worn  out  creeds  insult  my  intelligence.  The 
liberal  teachers  of  the  day  shock  me  with 
their  irreverence,  and  leave  my  soul  hungry: 
and  in  Spiritualism  I  find  so  much  trickery, 
fraud,  and  immorality,  mixed  up  with  a  few 
mysterious  and  unsatisfactory  truths,  that  I 
am  again  in  despair." 

"But  you  must  not  be  in  despair," 
Helena  said,  with  one  of  her  beautiful 
smiles.  4 '  You  have  not  looked  at  Spiritual 
ism  from  the  right  standpoint.  So  long 
as  you  seek  its  truths  through  professional 
mediums,  you  will  be  dissatisfied  and  con 
fused." 

' '  Then  you  think  they  are  all  humbugs?" 

"Certainly  not:"  Helena  replied,  with 
emphasis.  "  There  are  people  endowed  with 


A    MAN     AND     TWO     WOMEN.  201 

the  gift  of  divination,  beyond  doubt.  There 
are  peculiarly  organized  beings  who  can 
read  the  future  and  the  past — beings  who  see 
through  and  beyond  this  thin  veil  of  mortal 
ity,  into  the  spiritual  realms  which  lie  very 
close  to  us.  But  we  must  not  look  to  those 
people  for  our  enlightenment  upon  this  sub 
ject.  If  we  do,  we  soon  lose  our  individual 
ity  ;  we  grow  dependent  and  unpractical 
and  visionary.  God  placed  us  here  to  carve 
out  our  own  destinies — to  work  and  wait  for 
events,  not  to  tear  aside  the  curtain  and 
read  the  cypher  which  is  understood  by  a 
few." 

"  But  how,  then,  can  I  obtain  the  bene 
fits  you  mention  from  this  belief  ?"  ques 
tioned  Percy. 

"You  must  look  to  the  development  of 
your  own  spiritual  nature,  and  to  the  conse 
quent  crucifying  of  your  baser  self,  in  order 
to  obtain  the  comfort  and  benefit  of  this 
belief.  In  this  you  will  have  the  help  of 
your  departed  friends." 

"  You  think  they  retain  their  interest  in 
and  love  for  us,  the  same  there  as  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  assuredly.    Yet  often  our  sor- 
9* 


202          A    MAN    AND    TWO    WOMEN. 

rows  seem,  to  their  enlarged  vision,  as  the 
sorrows  of  children  over  broken  toys  seem 
to  us  ;  yet  they  strive  to  comfort  us." 

"If  that  is  true,"  interposed  Percy, 
"why  was  it,  that  after  my  mother  died, 
and  I  used  to  lie  awake  at  night,  and  plead 
with  Heaven  to  let  me  feel  her  touch,  or  see 
her  face,  if  only  for  a  second,  why  did  she 
not  come  to  me  ?" 

"  Because,"  Helena  answered  gently, 
"there  are  restrictions  upon  their  liberty, 
there  are  limits  to  their  powers,  even  as  there 
are  to  our  own.  They  live  higher,  freer, 
more  exalted  lives,  but  they  are  not  gods. 
I  remember  when  I  was  first  sent  from 
home  to  boarding-school,  how  bitter  was  my 
homesickness  and  sorrow.  I  used  to  write 
tear-blotted  letters  to  my  mother,  begging 
her  to  come  to  me.  She  did  not  come  ;  other 
and  more  important  duties  detained  her  at 
home.  She  knew  it  was  better  for  me  to 
remain  and  overcome  my  loneliness.  So 
your  mother  in  the  spirit  world  may  have 
been  detained  by  the  wonderful  tasks  given 
her  to  do.  Yet  on  other  occasions  she  no 
doubt  comes  to  you,  as  she  came  this  morn- 


A     MAN     AND     TWO     WOMEN.  £03 


ing.  I  think  we  can  not  expect  frequent 
companionship  from  these  pure  spirits,  how 
ever,  unless  we  cultivate  the  better  part  of 
our  natures.  They  will  not  linger  near  us 
if  we  are  wholly  earthly  in  our  aims  and 
ambitions,  and  immoral  in  our  lives." 

"I  believe  that — I  am  certain  of  it  in 
my  own  experience,"  Percy  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  Whenever  I  violate  a  principle,  my 
mother  flies  from  me  as  in  fear.  She  has 
been  absent  many  months,  Miss  Maxon,  un  - 
til  your  voice  wooed  her  back." 

"  Therein  lies  the  great  religious  lesson  in 
this  belief  ;"  continued  Helena.  "  I  find  that 
even  my  petty  tempers,  my  uncharitable  feel 
ings,  or  thoughtless  criticisms  of  other  people, 
frighten  away  this  holy  company.  I  have 
to  set  a  constant  watch  upon  my  mind  and 
heart,  to  let  no  evil  or  selfish  thought  enter, 
if  I  would  retain  their  helpful  and  loving 
influences.  It  is  no  easy  task,  Mr.  Durand. 
It  is  constant  wrarfare,  betwreen  the  material 
and  the  spiritual  nature.  But  the  results 
are  glorious.  Often  when  I  have  put  to 
rout  evil  feelings,  and  selfish  thoughts,  back 
to  my  soul,  like  a  flock  of  white  doves,  the 


204:  A     MAN     AND     TWO     WOMEN. 


spirits  of  comforting  friends  fly,  lifting  me 
into  an  atmosphere  so  heavenly  and  beauti 
ful,  that  I  seem  scarcely  to  belong  to  earth. 
Oh  surely,  God  could  not  give  better  employ 
ment  to  his  angels,  than  to  let  them  some 
times  comfort  us,  like  this.  Surely,  there  is 
nothing  irreverent  or  wrong  in  this  belief." 

k'No,  it  is  the  sweetest  of  all  beliefs," 
Percy  answered.  "It  robs  death  of  all  its 
horrors,  and  it  is  a  belief  which  is  gaining 
ground.  Do  you  not  think  so  T 

4 'Yes,  indeed,  with  the  more  intellectual 
classes.  There  was  a  time,  when  it  was  con 
sidered  an  evidence  of  ignorance  to  profess 
any  faith  in  spirit  aid.  Now  it  is  considered 
an  evidence  of  ignorance  to  declare  positively 
that  there  is  nothing  in  it.  But  sensible 
believers  do  not  waste  their  time  in  peeking 
after  crude  miracles — miracles  which  can 
help  no  human  soul,  and  only  serve  to  con 
fuse  and  puzzle  the  intellect.  They  turn 
their  attention  rather  to  the  development 
of  their  own  higher  natures,  which  enables 
them  to  understand  and  enjoy  these  beauti 
ful  truths." 

"  Do    you    believe    that    the   spirits   of 


A    MAN     AND     TWO     WOMEN.          205 

our  dear  ones  ever  reveal  themselves  to 
us  ?"  asked  Percy,  growing  more  and  more 
interested.  "Have  you  ever  been  blessed 
by  such  a  vision  ?" 

"Never,  though  I  have  longed  for  it. 
Yet  I  believe  others  have  been  so  blessed. 
You  know  the  Bible  overflows  with  such 
occurrences.  We  have,  there,  the  inspired 
record  of  the  re -appearance  upon  earth  after 
death— of  Samuel,  Moses,  Elijah,  and  Christ 
himself.  If  we  believe  the  Bible,  we  must 
believe  these  things  occurred.  And  I  think 
God  loves  his  people  now  as  dearly  as 
He  loved  them  then.  But  I  have  110  belief 
in,  and  no  patience  with,  the  miserable  arti 
fice  and  wicked  pretense  of  the  so-called 
materializing  mediums.  I  do  not  believe 
the  lovely  spirit  of  my  dear  mother  could  be 
shown  to  me  through  any  cabinet — like  a 
jack-in-a-box.  The  idea  that  the  spirits  of 
the  intellectual  dead  have  nothing  better  to 
do  than  move  furniture  or  rap  on  ceilings 
and  floors,  is  disgusting  and  nonsensical  in 
my  view.  I  am  a  good  deal  of  a  Sweden- 
borgian  :  I  think  with  him,  that  the  body— 
the  eye — is  merely  a  telescope,  through 


206          A    MAN    AND     TWO     WOMEN. 


which  the  soul  gazes.  What  the  soul  sees, 
and  how  far  it  sees,  depends  upon  many 
conditions,  just  as  a  clear  or  a  murky 
atmosphere,  and  the  mechanism  of  his  in 
strument,  influences  the  observations  of  the 
astronomer.  When  the  soul,  and  the  body, 
and  the  spiritual  atmosphere  are  all  in  per 
fect  condition,  I  believe  we  can  see  the  spirit 
forms  about  us.  You  know  St.  Paul  says  : 
'  Run  your  race  in  patience,  for  you  are  siir- 
rounded  by  a  cloud  of  witnesses.1'  But  in 
our  gross  material  lives,  these  conditions 
seldom  occur.  As  for  myself,  I  am  satisfied 
with  the  comfort  and  strength  I  receive 
through  unseen  presences.  I  do  not  ask,  or 
seek  anything  more." 

A  spiteful-voiced  clock  on  the  mantel 
counted  off  eleven  strokes. 

Percy  arose  in  sudden  confusion. 

"How  inexcusably  late  I  have  re 
mained,"  he  said,  "  how  can  I  ever  obtain 
pardon— 

"  No  excuse  is  necessary!"  interposed 
Mrs.  Griffith.  "  We  all  thank  you  for  caus 
ing  Miss  Maxon  to  talk  so  freely.  It  is 
seldom  she  does,  and  we  love  to  hear  her 


A    MAN     AND     TWO     WOMEN.          207 

conversation  as  well  as  her  singing.     Be  sure 
and  come  again,  Mr.  Durand." 

As  he  walked  back  to  his  hotel,  in  upon 
his  strangely  enlarged  and  enlightened 
vision,  a  sudden  thought  of  Dolores  darted. 
He  stopped  in  the  street  and  put  his  hand  to 
his  brow.  "  My  God  !"  he  cried,  "  how  can 
I  go  back  to  her  ?" 


208  A    MAN,     A    WOMAN, 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 

A  MAN.    A   WOMAN,   AND   SPIRITS. 

E  did  not  go  near  her  for  three  days. 
During  all  that  time  he  was  bat 
tling  with  his  own  soul. 

So  strange  and  powerful  was  the 
impression  made  by  the  conversation  of 
Helena,  that  the  whole  current  of  his  life 
seemed  changed. 

All  his  former  independent  course  of 
action,  which  he  had  justified  with  a  thou 
sand  arguments,  all  his  selfish  years  of 
pleasure,  all  his  Arcadian  existence  with 
Dolores,  loomed  up  before  him  now  as  law 
less  and  wicked. 

"  No  wonder  my  mother's  pure  spirit  fled 
from  me  to  the  most  distant  borders  of  the 
spirit  world,"  he  said.  "How  unworthy 
her  sweet  companionship  I  am — and  yet  I 
might  become  worthy." 

But  how  could  he  go  to  Dolores,  and  teH 


AND    SPIRITS.  209 


her  that  their  life  together  was  a  terrible 
mistake :  that  they  must  part  at  once,  and 
forever  ? 

And  if  he  did  not,  how  could  he  ever 
hope  to  attain  that  ideal  of  high,  noble  man 
hood,  which  would  alone  fit  him  for  the 
companionship  of  his  mother's  spirit,  here  or 
hereafter  ? 

He  suffered  the  agonies  of  the  damned, 
all  those  days.  He  shunned  the  streets  for 
fear  of  meeting  Dolores  :  the  Club  seemed 
hateful  to  him,  and  he  remained  shut 
in  his  own  apartments,  a  prey  to  gloomy 
thoughts. 

And  then  one  of  those  curious  caprices  of 
Fate  occurred,  which  again  compelled  him 
to  stifle  the  voice  of  his  conscience. 

It  often  seems  in  this  life,  when  a  soul  is 
floundering  in  a  net -work  of  Sin's  weaving, 
striving  to  extricate  itself,  that  the  Devil, 
like  a  great  spider,  comes  along  and  spins 
new  meshes  about  it. 

A  messenger  brought  Percy  a  note  from 
Dolores  one  day.  He  opened  it  hastily  and 
read  : 


210  A     MAN,     A     WOMAN, 

"MY  DARLING  : 

"  I  am  ill  :  threatened  with  a  fever.  No 
one  but  Lorrete  is  with  me.  I  am  longing 
for  you,  and  I  am  alarmed  about  you.  You 
never  remained  so  long  away  from  me" 
before,  without  sending  me  some  message. 
The  thought  that  you  may  be  ill,  and  that  I 
am  not  near  you  to  minister  to  your  needs, 
is  maddening.  Write  to  me,  dear,  and  if 
you  can,  come  to  your  sick  and  lonely 

"DOLORES." 

He  was  by  her  side  within  an  hour.  She 
reached  out  her  arms,  and  pillowed  her 
flushed  face  on  his  breast,  weeping  softly. 

"Oh,  Love!"  she  murmured.  "I  have 
felt  so  lonely,  so  deserted  these  last  days.  I 
think  I  have  realized  just  what  life  would  be 
without  you  :  it  would  be  an  agony  of  deso 
lation.  I  could  not  live." 

Percy's  heart  writhed  within  him,  as  he 
stroked  the  beautiful  head  and  soothed  her 
with  kind  words.  How  could  he  ever  stab 
that  loving  heart  by  telling  her  the  change 
that  had  come  over  him— a  change  as 
thorough  as  it  was  sudden  ;  a  change  that 


AND     SPIRITS.  211 


was  the  dawn  of  a  possible  new  life  for 
him. 

"I  cannot.  It  is  too  late;  it  would  be 
more  cruel  than  murder,"  he  said  to  himself, 
and  he  drew  Dolores  into  his  arms,  and  com 
forted  her  as  he  would  have  comforted  a 
sick  child.  She  asked  no  explanation  of  his 
absence,  and  he  made  none. 

Within  a  week  he  had  carried  her  away 
to  a  quiet  country  resort,  where  she  soon 
regained  her  health.  But  during  her  illness, 
there  came  to  her,  through  the  clairvoyant 
power  of  a  loving  heart,  the  knowledge  that 
some  mysterious  change  had  taken  place  in 
Percy.  He  was  kind,  oh,  very  kind ;  so 
careful  of  her  bodily  comfort,  so  solicitous 
for  her  welfare. 

And  yet — what  was  it  ? 

"  Is  any  thing  troubling  you  ?"  she  asked 
him  one  day.  "  You  do  not  seem  like  your 
self." 

' i  There  are  some  business  matters  which 
annoy  me,"  he  said,  evading  her  eyes.  "  My 
South  American  ventures  are  a  failure — that 
is  all,  my  dear,  save  a  miserable  lassitude 


212  A   MAN,   A   WOMAN, 

and  sideache,  which  Dr.  Sydney  says  is  due 
to  a  touch  of  malaria." 

But  she  knew  better. 

They  returned  to  New  York,  and  then 
Percy  was  guilty  of  an  act  of  rash  folly,  for 
a  man.  who  desired  to  escape  a  complication 
of  troubles. 

He  sent  Dolores  a  message,  saying  he 
was  called  out  of  town  suddenty.  Then  he 
took  the  train  for  Center ville.  It  was 
Saturday  afternoon,  and  he  told  himself, 
that  he  would  merely  attend  divine  service 
in  the  morning,  listen  to  Helena's  voice  once 
more,  and  come  away  without  being  seen  by 
any  one. 

But  in  his  heart,  he  knew  that  this  was 
impossible.  And  when  Mrs.  Griffith  ap 
proached  him  after  service,  and  urged  him 
to  accompany  them  home,  and  dine  with 
them,  he  went,  without  offering  one  objec 
tion. 

Helena  greeted  him  with  simple  cordial 
ity,  and  entertained  him  with  the  easy  grace 
so  natural  to  her.  He  was  at  peace  with 
himself,  in  her  presence,  for  the  first  time 
since  he  last  saw  her. 


AND    SPIRITS. 


"  How  strange  it  is  !"  he  mused,  "  I  have 
seen  the  most  beautiful  women  in  the  world, 
I  have  listened  to  the  most  famous  singers  ; 
and  yet,  I  am  moved  by  the  presence  and 
voice  of  a  simple  village  maiden  as  I  have 
never  been  moved  in  my  life  before." 

A  sudden  impulse  came  over  him  to  tell 
her  his  story,  to  ask  her  advice,  as  they  sat 
alone  in  the  afternoon.  Then  he  hesitated  : 
what  if  she  turned  from  him,  shocked, 
angry,  horrified  ? — so  he  only  said  : 

' '  I  wish  you  would  call  some  of  your 
wise  spirits,  Miss  Helena,  and  ask  them  to 
read  me  my  future.  I  am  in  trouble — a 
trouble  out  of  which  I  can  see  no  pathway. 
I  wish  good  angels  would  tell  me  how  it  is 
to  end." 

"  But  that  is  not  the  province  of  spirits," 
Helena  answered.  "  People  often  make  the 
great  mistake  of  supposing  that  the  departed 
know  all  that  is  to  happen  to  us  while  we 
remain  upon  earth.  The  fact  is,  they  know 
very  little  about  it,  and  are  too  busily 
employed  to  give  their  time  to  finding  out 
the  future  for  us." 

"  But  if  their  lives  are  so  exalted  and 


214  A    MAN,     A    WOMAN, 

their  vision  so  broad,  I  see  no  reason  why 
they  should  not  know." 

"  You  will  see  when  you  come  to  think 
of  it  sensibly,"  Helena  continued,  with  a 
smile.  ' '  Their  lives  are,  compared  to  our 
own.  just  as  much  broader,  more  useful  and 
more  important,  as  the  lives  of  great  thinkers 
and  philosophers  and  reformers,  are  greater 
than  the  lives  of  little  children.  Shake 
speare,  Caiiyle,  Lincoln,  George  Eliot, 
all  were  wonderful  people  who  grasped 
almost  the  wrhole  of  the  universe  with 
their  minds.  Yet  not  one  of  them,  were 
they  all  alive  to-day,  could  foretell  the 
future  life  of  Mrs.  Griffith's  little  child,  yon 
der.  Not  one  could  say  what  was  to  occur 
to  him  in  the  next  ten  years.  They  could 
help  him  by  their  example,  and  strengthen 
him  by  their  philosophy,  but  no  more,  great 
as  they  were.  Well,  now,  the  spirits  of  the 
dead  regard  us  as  children  at  school.  They 
are  far  beyond  us,  in  knowledge  and  useful 
ness  ;  they  are  ever  ready  to  strengthen  and 
encourage  us,  but  they  cannot  predict  events 
for  us.  There  are  some,  no  doubt,  who  were 
gifted  with  clairvoyance  here,  who  keep  the 


AND     SPIRITS.  215 


power  there.  But  such  spirits  are  often  too 
busy  to  come  at  our  call.  And  they  know, 
too,  that  it  is  better  for  us  to  depend  upon 
ourselves  in  a  great  measure.  It  is  through 
self-dependence  that  we  develope  our  indi 
viduality,  and  become  fitted  for  the  labors  of 
this  world  and  the  next." 

"  Then  you  think  the  future  life  is  one 
of  labor  ?"  Percy  asked. 

"It  is  one  of  usefulness  and  progression, 
certainly,  or  it  is  not  worth  living,"  she  an 
swered.  (t  Who  would  want  to  live  at  all,  if 
we  never  advanced  in  any  way  ?  And  the 
beauty  of  that  new  life  is,  that  every  particle 
of  progress  we  have  made  here,  even  if  it 
has  brought  us  no  reward,  will  enable  us  to 
take  an  advanced  place  there.  So  soon  as 
we  are  out  of  the  body,  we  shall  realize  this 
in  all  its  satisfying'  truth.  Every  hard 
struggle  on  earth,  every  conquered  tempta 
tion,  every  sorrow,  every  trial  endured, 
every  labor  well  performed,  we  shall  see  has 
its  splendid  reward  in  fitting  us  for  the  most 
exalted  position  in  that  new  life.  Every 
particle  of  love  and  affection  we  have  be 
stowed  on  objects  which  seemed  to  make  a 


216  A     MAN,     A     WOMAN, 

poor  return  or  no  return  here,  will  be  given 
to  us  in  ten -fold  strength  and  sweetness 
there.  The  more  we  love  humanity — the 
more  we  shall  be  loved  and  the  wider  will  be 
our  capabilities  of  wonderful  labors  in  the 
spirit  world.  The  two  most  God-like  emo 
tions  given  to  mortals  to  experience,  are 
love  and  sympathy.  If  we  give  our  love 
with  prodigality,  and  sympathize  with  every 
human  being  who  crosses  our  pathway  in 
life,  it  really  matters  very  little  whether  we 
are  loved  in  return,  or  whether  the  world 
thanks  us  for  our  sympathy,  or  not.  It  is 
the  act  of  loving  and  sympathizing  which 
shapes  the  soul.  And  when  the  body  falls 
away,  the  spirit  that  has  given  its  affections 
and  sympathies  freely  on  earth  will  stand 
forth,  a  mighty  and  beautiful  Power  in  the 
New  Life,  no  matter  what  its  creed  or  belief 
in  the  earth  life  has  been." 

Percy  drew  a  long  deep  breath.  Again 
the  delicate  curtain  was  drawn  over  her 
dark  eyes,  softening  and  half  concealing 
their  sombre  splendor.  Again  he  felt  that 
subtle  warmth  and  fragrance  emanating 


AND     SPIRITS.  217 


from  her  person,  and  was  thrilled  and  mag 
netized  by  it. 

' i  It  is  no  earthly  odor,"  he  said.  "It  is 
the  perfume  of  her  soul/' 

"'How  clear  and  beautiful  you  make  it 
all  seem  !"  he  said,  aloud.  "  To  listen  to  your 
words  makes  one  long  for  death.  And  yet, 
if  our  lives  have  been  selfish,  immoral,  un 
worthy,  if  we  have  wasted  our  time  in  mere 
earthly  or  sensual  pleasures,  how  terrible 
must  be  the  consciousness  of  it  to  the  freed 
spirit." 

"  Yes,  terrible,  indeed.  There  comes  the 
real  hell  of  the  suffering  conscience.  The 
soul  will  see  its  fearful  mistake,  and  see  how 
long  and  dreary  is  the  pathway  before  it. 
Yet,  it  will  realize,  that  God  has  left  that 
lonely  path  open  for  it,  and  that  it  may  by 
hard  toil  climb  up  to  the  position  it  might 
have  occupied  at  the  hour  of  its  entering  oil 
the  new  life.  I  think  the  capability  of  a 
soul  to  suffer  at  that  time,  must  be  beyond 
our  comprehension.  It  is  terrible  011  earth 
to  realize  our  lost  opportunities.  It  will  be 
far  more  intense  there.  But  even  the  most 
depraved  will  be  given  a  chance  to  rise, 

10 


218  A     MAN,     A     WOMAN. 

through  centuries  of  striving.  There  is  no 
eternal  damnation,  any  more  than  there  is 
instantaneous  salvation. " 

Percy  rose  to  go,  stirred  to  the  very 
depths  of  his  better  nature  by  her  words. 
As  he  made  his  adieus,  he  said  : 

"  Miss  Maxon,  will  you  write  to  me?  I 
am  in  great  trouble,  as  I  told  you  ;  a  trouble 
that  seems  to  shut  out  every  particle  of  light 
from  the  universe.  Your  words  afford  me 
the  only  comfort  I  have  had  for  weeks. 
Will  you  write  to  me  and  cheer  me  a  little 
through  the  gloomy  days  that  lie  before 
me  ?" 

Helena's  heart  welled  full  of  sympathy 
toward  all  the  suffering  world.  Her  creed 
of  life  was,  to  give  all  the  comfort,  and  help, 
and  cheer,  possible  to  every  troubled  mortal 
on  life's  highway.  She  was  never  afraid  to 
reach  out  her  hand  to  a  weak  fallen  creature, 
for  fear  of  soiling  it. 

It  is  the  woman,  who  feels  herself  the 
strongest  and  most  secure  in  her  virtue 
and  her  social  position,  who  is  most  fear 
less  in  her  efforts  to  uplift  the  unfortu- 


AND     SPIRITS.  219 


nate:  and  a  very  benevolent  heart,  is  seldom 
coupled  with  a  cautious  brain. 

There  was  such  real  suffering  in  Percy's 
face  and  voice,  that  Helena's  heart  was 
moved  with  pity.  She  held  out  her  hand 
and  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes,  her  own  full 
of  sweetest  sympathy. 

"  Yes,  I  will  write  to  you,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  very  sorry  for  you,  if  you  are  in  such 
trouble.  But  you  must  remember,  that  in 
this  life,  to  grow  means  to  suffer.  I  found 
actual  happiness  in  pain,  when  I  fully 
realized  the  truth  of  that." 

' '  But  you  have  never  suffered,  and  made 
another  suffer,  by  your  own  selfish  folly, " 
Percy  said,  as  he  turned  away.  "  Good  by, 
and  God  bless  you  for  your  promise  to  write 
to  me." 


220  APPLES     OF     SODOM. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

APPLES     OF     SODOM. 

E  went  away  a  thousand  times  more 
hopelessly  entangled  in  the  meshes 
of  fate  than  ever. 

He  loved  Helena  with  a  passion 
that  frightened  him,  so  mysterious,  so  sud 
den,  so  exalted,  so  intense  in  its  spiritual 
force  was  it. 

He  who  said  that  love,  to  be  sincere,  must 
be  of  slow  growth,  that  man  was  a  fool. 

As  God  said,  unto  the  darkened  world, 
"  Let  there  be  light"  and  there  was  light, 
so,  unto  many  a  slumbering  heart,  He  has 
said,  "Let  there  be  love,"  and  there  was 
love — radiant,  glorious,  eternal,  as  is  the 
splendor  of  the  sun  in  the  heavens. 

So  had  love  sprung  to  life  in  the  heart  of 
Perc)r  Durand — a  love  that  the  waters  of 
death  could  not  quench. 

"  Never  since  mv  mother  died,"  he  whis- 


APPLES     OP     SODOM.  221 

pered  to  his  heart,  "have  I  felt  such  an 
adoring  affection  bordering  upon  worship, 
as  I  feel  for  this  girl.  I  could  be  any  thing, 
do  any  thing,  with  her  beside  me — my  guide, 
my  friend,  my  mate,  my  wife." 

Wife  !  Yes,  that  was  how  he  thought  of 
Helena,  All  his  old  theories  and  cynical 
beliefs  fell  away  from  him,  like  dead  leaves 
from  a  tree,  in  the  presence  of  this  beautiful 
new  love. 

All  his  old  life  of  license,  and  bachelor 
freedom,  and  secret  companionship  with  a 
charming  woman,  seemed  like  the  apples  of 
Sodom  to  him  now. 

He  wanted  a  home  where  he  could 
proudly  welcome  the  whole  world,  if  need 
be,  to  witness  his  happiness.  He  wanted  a 
wife  to  entertain  his  friends — not  a  mistress 
to  hide  from  them  ;  and  he  wanted  children 
to  crown  his  life  and  perpetuate  his  name. 

These  highest  human  instincts  come 
knocking  at  the  door  of  every  man's  heart, 
some  time  in  his  life. 

He  may  bolt  the  door  with  avarice  or 
pride,  curtain  the  windows  with  lawless  pas 
sions,  and  block  the  entrance  with  worldly 


222  APPLES     OF     SODOM. 

ambitions  and  pleasure.  But  the  Creator 
who  meant  him  to  be  a  part  of  that  holy 
earthly  trinity, — father,  mother,  and  child, 
—shall  send  a  great  unrest  upon  his  soul ; 
and  despite  all  his  precautions,  a  longing 
for  the  love  of  a  pure  woman  and  a  little 
child  shall  take  possession  of  his  heart. 

That  time  had  come  to  Percy  :  come  as 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly  as  the  greatest 
eras  almost  always  come  in  human  exist 
ence. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  indulged  in  wild 
dreams. 

He  saw  himself  sitting  before  an  open 
fire-place :  a  little  distance  from  him,  Hel 
ena,  in  flowing  white  robes,  singing  a 
golden-haired  child  to  sleep  upon  her  breast. 
Near  by,  a  friend,  some  of  his  bachelor  com 
panions,  perhaps,  envying  his  happiness,  as 
he  looked  upon  the  scene  with  admiring 
eyes. 

Then  he  sprang  up  and  fairly  groaned 
aloud. 

"  I  must  guard  myself  in  my  letters,"  he 
said.  "I  will  only  write  to  Helena,  as  a 
suffering  man  might  address  a  Sister  of 


APPLES     OF     SODOM.  223 

Charity.  She  shall  never  know  how  I  love 
her,  until  my  life  is  free  from  every  fetter 
of  sin  and  folly,  and  until  I  have  made 
myself  worthy  by  years  of  noble  living.-' 

But  you  may  as  well  talk  of  hiding  the 
glory  of  the  sunrise  from  the  earth,  as  the 
fervor  of  a  great  passion  from  the  object 
which  inspired  it. 

Careful  as  were  his  expressions,  his  let 
ters  breathed  an  atmosphere  of  love  as 
passionate  as  his  mysterious  sorrow  seemed 
hopeless. 

Helena's  nature  was  deeply  romantic  and 
profoundly  sympathetic.  These  letters, 
therefore,  appealed  to  the  strongest  elements 
of  her  being. 

All  through  her  girlhood  she  had  jeal 
ously  guarded  her  heart's  vast  store  of  in 
tense  love  for  an  ideal  lover  whom  she  had 
never  yet  seen. 

And  now  through  the  medium  of  an 
earnest  sympathy  she  was  bestowing  upon 
Percy  all  the  lavish  wealth  of  her  rich 
nature,  just  as  one  might  give  a  five-dollar 
gold  piece,  thinking  it  was  only  a  shining 
penny,  to  a  mendicant.  She  lived  in  a  dream 


224  APPLES     OF     SODOM. 

world ;  she  performed  her  duties  as  music 
teacher  and  choir  singer  mechanically.  The 
people  with  whom  she  associated  were 
shadowy  and  unreal  forms.  The  only  per 
son  who  really  existed  for  her,  was  Percy, 
with  his  load  of  mysterious  sorrow,  which 
she  and  her  glorious  horde  of  spirit  friends 
would  somehow  lift  from  him. 

With  her  slight  knowledge  of  the  world 
at  large,  and  society  as  it  exists  in  cities, 
Helena  had  no  comprehension  of  what  that 
sorrow  might  be.  She  did  not  puzzle  her 
head  to  divine  it.  She  was  willing  to  wait 
Percy's  own  time.  Whatever  it  was,  she 
knew  he  deserved  her  sympathy  and  her 
prayers. 

Almost  daily  Percy  saw  Dolores.  Each 
day  he  promised  himself,  that  he  would  tell 
her  what  was  in  his  heart.  Each  day  he 
delayed  the  dreaded  scene. 

Upon  Dolores,  the  terrible  and  over 
whelming  conviction  was  forcing  itself,  that 
Percy  no  longer  loved  her,  The  thought  of 
a  rival  never  once  presented  itself  to  her. 
She  knew  that  she  was  beautiful,  accom- 


APPLES     OF     SODOM.  225 

plished,  congenial — every  thing,  in  fact, 
which  he  could  desire  in  a  companion. 

"But,"  she  reasoned,  "it  is  a  man's 
nature  to  tire  of  that  which  is  his.  Some 
where  I  have  read,  '  who  ever  gives  too  much 
in  love,  is  certain  not  to  receive  enough  in 
return  ;'  and  I  am  proving  it  true.  It  would 
be  the  same,  were  I  his  wife." 

Then,  in  spite  of  herself,  back  upon  her 
mind  rushed  the  recollection  of  a  quotation 
once  made  by  Mrs.  Butler  in  her  arguments 
in  favor  of  marriage  :  "If  the  fickle  husband 
goes,  he  returns ;  but  the  lover,  once  gone, 
he  never  returns."  She  remembered  how 
scornfully  she  had  regarded  such  an  argu 
ment.  "What  woman  of  pride  or  self-respect 
would  desire  the  fickle  husband  to  return  ?" 
she  had  said.  "I  should  want  him  to  go 
speedily,  the  moment  his  heart  strayed  from 
me,  or  tired  of  me.  And  better  by  far,  for 
both,  if  there  were  110  legal  ties  to  sever." 

All  this  sophistry  she  recalled  now,  with 

a  dull  pain  at  her  heart.  The  time  had  come, 

when  she  felt  positive,  that  Percy  no  longer 

loved  her.     Yet  she  could  not  tell  him  to  go. 

10* 


226  APPLES    OF     SODOM. 

The  very  thought  of  a  separation  was  like  a 
knife  in  her  breast. 

' '  How  vain  it  is  to  assert  what  we  would 
do  in  any  situation  in  life, "  she  said,  ' '  until 
we  have  loved.  Love  changes  everything, 
even  to  one's  whole  nature.  May  God  help 
me  to  bear  this," 

She  had  an  instinctive  knowledge,  that 
Percy  was  trying  to  summon  courage  to  tell 
her  of  his  changed  feelings.  She  shrank 
from  it,  as  from  a  blow. 

' '  I  cannot  hear  him  say  the  words,  she 
moaned.  "  I  cannot  live  and  hear  them  from 
his  lips  ;  and  I  cannot  let  him  go — I  cannot, 
I  cannot." 

She  grew  thin  and  hollow-eyed,  and  the 
pathos  of  her  face  was  heartrending.  She 
tried  to  be  cheerful  and  amuse  Percy  with 
her  old  flow  of  wit  and  anecdote.  They  took 
their  usual  drives,  and  indulged  in  theatres, 
and  pet-its  soupers  afterward,  as  of  old, 
but  it  was  all  a  melancholy  failure,  a  farce 
of  their  former  happy  days.  Though  he 
gave  her  the  same  gallant  attentions,  she 
knew  his  heart  was  not  in  it. 

It  was  like  looking  on  the  dead  face  of  a 


APPLES     OF     SODOM. 


dear  one  :  the  features  unchanged,  but  the 
spirit  fled. 

One  day  as  he  sat  smoking  a  cigar  in 
their  pretty  artistic  rooms,  while  Dolores 
played  a  melancholy  air  on  the  piano,  he 
determined  to  tell  her  of  his  resolution  to 
leave  her  and  go  abroad.  *  '  I  will  not  tell 
her  that  I  love  another,"  he  thought  ;  "  that 
will  give  needless  pain.  But  I  cannot  keep 
up  this  farce  any  longer.  It  must  end." 

"  Dolores."  he  said,  throwing  away  his 
cigar,  '  c  come  and  sit  beside  me  on  this 
ottoman.  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

She  turned  a  pale,  startled  face  to  his. 
and  her  hands  fell  upon  discordant  keys. 

'"I  will,"  she  said,  rising  hurriedly,  "in  a 
moment.  But  first  let  me  show  you  such 
a  strange,  sad  little  poem  I  found  among 
some  of  Mrs.  Butler's  clippings  to-day. 
Once  1  could  not  have  understood  such  a 
sentiment.  To-day  I  do.  I  remember  show 
ing  you  a  poem  that  I  thought  applicable  to 
ourselves  another  time,  Percy.  This  is  very 
unlike  it." 

She  placed  the  slip  of  paper  in  his  hand, 
and  sat  down  beside  him  while  he  read  it  : 


228  APPLES     OF     SODOM. 


her  elbows  resting  on  his  knees,  her  brow 
bent  on  her  clasped  hands. 
This  was  what  he  read  : 

When  your  love  begins  to  wane, 
Spare  me  from  the  cruel  pain 

Of  all  speech  that  tells  me  so — 
Spare  me  words,  for  I  shall  know. 

By  the  half-averted  eyes 

By  the  breast  that  no  more  sighs, 
.  By  the  rapture  I  shall  miss 

From  your  strangely-altered  kiss, 

By  the  arms  that  still  enfold 

But  have  lost  their  clinging  hold, 

And,  too  willing,  let  me  go, 

I  shall  know,  love,  I  shall  know. 

Bitter  will  the  knowledge  be, 

Bitterer  than  death  to  me. 
Yet,  'twill  come  to  me  some  day, 

For  it  is  the  sad  world's  way. 

Make  no  vows — vows  cannot  bind 
Changing  hearts  or  wayward  mind. 

Men  grow  weary  of  a  bliss 
Passionate  and  fond  as  this. 


APPLES    OF    SODOM.  229 

Love  will  wane.     But  I  shall  know, 

If  you  do  not  tel-  me  so. 
Know  it,  tho'  you  br.iile  and  say 

That  you  love  me  more  each  day, 

Know  it  by  the  inner  sight 

That  forever  sees  aright. 
Words  could  but  increase  my  woe, 

And  without  them,  I  shall  know. 

When  he  had  finished  the  reading,  he 
turned  and  drew  Dolores'  white,  suffering 
face  against  his  breast  without  a  word. 

She  lay  there  weeping  silently,  and 
neither  spoke.  But  both  hearts  were  full  of 
unutterable  pain  and  despair. 

She  clung  to  him  as  he  rose  to  go. 

"  You  will  come  to-morrow  ?"  she  said. 

"Not  to-morrow,"  he  answered,  gently. 
"  I  am  going  out  of  town  for  the  day.  But 
I  will  come  again  soon.'' 

At  the  door  he  turned  and  looked  back, 
his  eyes  full  of  infinite  pity.  Oh !  how 
gladly  he  would  have  bestowed  upon  her  the 
love  that  had  so  strangely  gone  out  to 
Helena,  had  it  been  in  his  power. 


230  APPLES     OF     SODOM. 

"  If  God,  among  his  gifts  to  mortals,  had 
given  us  the  ability  to  transfer  an  unwise 
love,  how  much  misery  we  should  be 
saved,"  he  thought,  as  he  went  out. 


A     STORY     AND     A     REVELATION.       23  i 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  STORY  AND  A  REVELATION. 

ERCY  found  himself  so  ill  the  next 
morning,  that  he  was  obliged  to 
send  for  his  physician,  Dr.  Sydney. 
Ever  since  his  return  from  South 
America,  he  had  been  losing  strength  and 
flesh,  and  a  dull  ache  in  his  side,  and  dart 
ing  pains  throughout  his  entire  body  had 
rendered  his  nights  restless,  and  his  days 
full  of  lassitude.  His  physician  had  an 
swered  him  that  it  was  a  ' '  touch  of  malaria, 
contracted  in  the  beastly  climate  of  South 
America,"  and  Percy  had  relied  on  quinine 
and  time  to  effect  a  cure. 

(We  all  know  how  customary  it  is  in 
these  days  for  physicians  to  designate  any 
puzzling  ailment  by  the  convenient  and  in 
definable  term  of  malaria.) 

But  this  morning,  when  Dr.  Sydney  was 
called  to  his  patient,  he  decided  that  some- 


232      A    STORY    AND    A    REVELATION. 

thing  more  serious,  and  tangible  than  a  touch 
of  malaria  was  imminent. 

Percy  had  been  suffering  from  a  hard 
chill  during  the  night,  which  was  now  suc 
ceeded  by  a  high  fever,  and  acute  pain  in  his 
side.  He  was  sitting  in  his  chair  by  the 
window — dressed  as  if  to  go  out. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  this  will  never  do  !"  Dr. 
Sydney  cried..  ' '  You  are  on  the  eve  of  a 
serious  sickness,  I  fear,  and  you  must  be  put 
to  bed,  and  place  yourself  under  treatment." 

" Pshaw — nothing  of  the  kind!"  Percy 
answered.  "  I  have  taken  cold,  and  beside, 
I  am  worn  out  with  worry  over  some  mat 
ters.  That  is  all." 

"  H'm  !  then  why  did  you  send  for  me,  if 
you  know  so  much  better  about  it  than  I 
do  !"  growled  the  old  physician. 

' '  Simply,  because  I  want  you  to  brace 
me  up,  and  get  me  in  condition  to  take  a 
short  trip  on  business  this  afternoon." 

"  A  trip,  business!"  echoed  Dr.  Sydney, 
gazing  at  Percy  over  his  spectacles.  "Why, 
if  you  are  not  insane  you  will  at  once  give 
up  that  idea.  You  will  not  be  fit  to  leave 
your  room  under  a  week,  if  you  do  in  that 


A     STORY     AND     A     REVELATION.      233 

time  :  and  you  must  have  a  good  nurse,  and 
keep  perfectly  quiet  until  you  are  out  of 
this." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  I  mast  attend  to  some 
important  business  out  of  town  to-day  !" 
Percy  answered,  stubbornly.  "It  is  the 
worry  and  anxiety  over  the  matter  which 
has  caused  my  illness,  mainly.  And  I  want 
you  to  give  me  a  tonic,  or  a  stimulant,  or 
something  that  will  carry  me  through  the 
day.  Then,  if  to-morrow  I  find  myself  no 
better,  I  will  promise  to  go  to  bed  and  follow 
your  advice.  For  I  want  to  get  in  condition 
to  go  abroad  very  soon." 

Finding  his  pat k nt  incorrigible,  Dr. 
Sydney  grimly  prepared  some  medicine  for 
him  to  take  during  the  forenoon,  and  left 
him  with  a  last  injunction  to  be  very  careful 
of  himself  if  he  desired  to  escape  a  long  siege 
of  illness. 

"But  he  can't  escape  it.  It  is  coming, 
unless  I  greatly  mistake  symptoms !"  he 
muttered,  as  he  went  out. 

Percy  remained  in  his  room  until  the 
afternoon,  then  he  set  forth  upon  a  visit  to 
Centerville ;  and  in  the  excitement  of  the 


234      A     STORY     AND     A     REVELATION. 


hour,  and  under  the  stimulating  effect  of 
Dr.  Sydney's  tonic,  he  felt  himsolf  wonder 
fully  improved  as  he  walked  up  the  village 
street. 

He  went  directly  to  Helena.  He  had 
resolved  to  tell  her  the  whole  story,  and 
abide  by  her  decision  of  what  was  right  for 
him  to  do. 

"She  has  no  actual  knowledge  of  the 
world,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  but  she  is 
endowed  with  divine  wisdom,  broad  sym 
pathies,  and  a  natural  understanding  of  the 
human  heart.  She  is  my  best  adviser." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  when  she 
came  into  the  room,  saying:  "This  is  an 
unexpected  pleasure,  Mr.  Durand." 

But  he  did  not  take  the  proffered  hand. 
He  only  answered  :  "  Wait.  I  came  here  to 
make  a  confession  to  you,  and  to  ask  your 
advice.  Perhaps,  after  you  have  heard  my 
story,  you  will  not  want  to  clasp  my  hand." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  startled,  wonder 
ing. 

"Surely  you  have  not  committed  mur 
der!"  she  said.  ''You  do  not  resemble  an 
assassin,  Mr.  Durand." 


A     STORY     AND     A     REVELATION.       235 

"  There  are  different  degrees  of  murJer," 
he  replied,  "  and  I  think  to  murder  a  human 
heart  is  the  cruelest  of  all." 

"Have  you  done  that  willfully?"  she 
asked,  lifting  her  sombre  eyes  to  his  face. 
"  Then,  indeed,  I  will  not  offer  you  my  hand 
in  greeting." 

"No,  no!"  he  added  hastily,  "not  will 
fully,  but  thoughtlessly!  and  thoughtlessness 
is  the  consort  of  selfishness,  and  the  two  are 
parents  of  crime.  But  now  listen  to  my 
story,  Miss  Maxon,  I  will  be  brief." 

"  My  father  died  when  I  was  but  a  child, 
and  left  me  the  only  heir  to  an  independent 
fortune.  I  grew  into  early  manhood  with 
this  knowledge — a  sad  knowledge  for  any 
youth,  because  it  leaves  him  with  -the  con 
sciousness  that  he  need  not  exert  his  own 
powers  of  brain  or  muscle  to  make  a  name 
and  place  in  Society.  My  mother  died  when 
I  was  fifteen — just  at  the  time  I  most 
needed  her  gentle  counsels,  and  refining  in 
fluence.  I  was  selfish,  proud,  passionate, 
strong-willed.  But  I  tried  to  make  a  man 
of  myself  for  the  sake  of  my  mother's 
memory.  I  believed  all  women  were  saints, 


236      A     STORY     AND     A    REVELATION. 

because  she  was  one.  At  twenty  I  met  a 
beautiful  woman,  two  or  three  years  my 
senior.  She  possessed  a  magnificent  form, 
and  a  face  of  wonderful  brunette  beauty. 
Every  man  in  my  circle  was  raving  over 
her,  and  I  became  madly  infatuated.  I 
asked  her  to  be  my  wife  and  she  consented. 
I  reveled  in  dreams  of  a  home — something  I 
had  not  known  since  my  mother  died.  A 
few  days  before  the  time  set  for  our 
wedding,  I  discovered  that  the  woman  I 
worshiped  was  making  sport  of  me,  and 
that  she  had  promised  to  be  my  wife  only 
to  secure  my  fortune.  More  shocking  still, 
she  was  carrying  on  the  most  flagrant 
infidelities,  which  were  the  talk  of  the  club- 
rooms,  while  I,  poor  dupe,  only  discovered 
the  horrible  truth  at  the  last  hour.  I  was 
but  a  youth,  and  this  experience  nearly 
wrecked  my  life. 

"  I  lost  faith  in  every  thing,  human  and 
divine,  for  a  time.  As  years  passed  my 
wound  healed,  but  all  my  views  of  life  were 
changed.  I  looked  upon  women  as  vain, 
frivolous  and  deceitful,  and  whatever  amuse 
ment  they  could  afford  me,  I  considered 


A    STORY    AND    A    REVELATION.      237 

myself  justified  in  taking.  Marriage  seemed 
to  me  a  bondage,  and  love  a  dream  sure  to 
end  in  misery  :  a  dream  which  could  never 
disturb  my  heart  again. 

"After  years  of  travel,  adventure  and 
folly,  when  a  wearisome  ennui  toward  the 
whole  world  had  taken  possession  of  me,  I 
met  a  lovely  woman. 

' i  She  also  abhorred  marriage,  and  had 
sworn  eternal  warfare  against  it.  She  was 
more  pronounced  and  bitter  in  her  denunci 
ations  of  the  social  system  than  I.  She  was 
a  charming  companion  ;  but  I  felt  that  the 
association  was  dangerous,  and  tried  to  fly 
from  it.  A  perverse  fate,  however,  con 
stantly  threw  us  together.  Finally,  she  was 
left  entirely  alone  in  the  world.  In  an  evil 
hour,  when  she  was  weeping  because  her 
life  was  so  desolate,  I  asked  her  to  decide 
between  the  society  she  despised,  and  my 
companionship  and  protection." 

He  paused.  It  was  hard  to  go  on  with 
those  truthful,  earnest,  pure  eyes  gazing  at 
him.  How  could  he  make  her  understand  ? 

"Well — and  what  was  her  answer?" 
Helena  asked,  almost  in  a  whisper. 


238      A     STORY"     AND     A     REVELATION. 

"  She  has  been  living  in  pleasant  apart 
ments  in  New  York,  as  my  friend  and  com 
rade,  for  almost  two  years.  Do  you  under 
stand  ?" 

"I  understand,"  she  answered,  and  a 
sudden  chill  shook  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"  We  were  very  happy  for  a  year — for 
longer,"  he  went  on,  hurriedly.  "She  was 
perfectly  happy,  because  she  believed  she 
was  doing  right.  I  was  not  as  happy  as  I 
had  expected  to  be.  My  conscience  seemed 
often  to  cry  out,  after  years  of  silence  ;  but  I 
would  not  listen  to  it.  We  passed  many 
delightful  hours  together,  and  I  was  always 
proud  to  think  my  friend  was  a  beautiful, 
refined  and  true  woman.  I  congratulated 
myself,  that  at  least,  I  had  shown  better 
taste  in  the  selection  of  my  companion,  than 
many  of  my  friends  who  were  similarly 
situated.  The  lady  was  independently 
wealthy,  and  our  association  was  prompted 
by  congenial  tastes  and  affection. 

1  i  Then  I  met  you.  Your  voice  woke  all 
the  higher  impulses  of  my  nature  :  your  con 
versation  lifted  me  into  a  strangely  rarified 
atmosphere ;  I  abhorred  my  old  life  from  the 


A     STORY     AND     A     REVELATION.       239 

hour  I  met  you.  I  have  tried  to  break 
away  from  it,  but  I  cannot  without  crush 
ing  a  human  heart.  Unfortunately,  my 
friend  has  passed  through  no  such  change  of 
feeling.  She  is  happy,  and  she  loves  me. 
To  leave  her  alone,  to  desert  her,  seems 
heartless  and  cruel.  The  way  of  escape  is 
hedged  about  with  unforeseen  difficulties. 
I  am  tortured  from  within  and  without. 
Surely  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard. 
I  would  reform  my  life,  if  I  knew  how. 
Can  you  tell  me  what  is  right  to  do  under 
the  circumstances  ?" 

She  was  very  pale.  Her  hands  were 
clasped  tightly  before  her.  Her  breath  came 
hard.  "There  is  one  way — only  one,"  she 
said.  "I  wonder  it  has  not  suggested  itself 
to  you.  Make  the  tie  that  binds  you  to  your 
friend  a  legal  one.  Make  her  your  wife, 
and  let  the  future  atone  for  the  past." 

He  started  to  his  feet  as  if  she  had  struck 
him. 

ic  It  is  impossible  !"  he  said.  "  She  would 
never  consent.  It  is  opposed  to  all  her 
theories," 


240      A     STORY    AND     A     REVEEATION. 

Helena  looked  at  him  coldly,  a  dumb 
pain  in  her  face. 

11 1  fear  you  can  not  understand  our  very 
peculiar  situation,"  he  went  on.  "  But  you 
must  believe  I  am  telling  you  the  whole 
truth.  I  am  not  misstating  one  thing. 
There  has  been  no  effort  at  misleading  this 
woman— this  friend  of  mine.  There  never 
was  any  talk  of  marriage  between  us,  save 
to  condemn  it.  She  often  said  she  liked  me 
first,  because  I  did  not  endeavor  to  convert 
her  from  her  pet  theories,  as  many  men  had 
done.  She  is  very  beautiful,  and  has  been 
annoyed  by  many  suitors.  But  she  is  almost 
a  monomaniac  upon  the  subject.  You 
would  find  less  to  condemn  in  my  course, 
if  you  could  understand  how  peculiar  and 
deep-rooted  were  her  prejudices." 

"I  do  understand,"  Helena  answered. 
"  I  once  knew  just  juch  a  person  as  you 
describe.  We  were  school-mates,  and  she 
shocked  us  aE.  on  graduating  day,  by  an  anti- 
marriage  address.  So  I  can  understand  the 
type  of  woman  you  describe.  Yet  these 
views  of  hers  did  not  necessitate  the  grave 


A    STORY    AND     A     REVELATION.       241 


course  of  action  you  suggested  to  her  later 
on,  surely." 

Percy  flushed.  ' '  No, "  he  said,  *  '  that  was 
the  result  of  our  dangerous  companionship, 
and  my  selfishness.  I  could  not  continue  in 
the  platonic  association,  so  satisfactory  to 
her,  and  I  could  not  give  her  up  easily,  and 
so  the  great  mistake  was  made.  The  error 
of  a  lifetime  is  often  committed  in  a  mo 
ment,  you  know.  And  now— 

"And  now,"  Helena  continued,  calmly, 
with  white  lips  as  he  paused,  ''now  the 
right  course  of  action  for  you  seems  very 
clearly  defined.  You  can  at  least  tell  her  of 
your  changed  ideas,  and  offer  her  marriage. 
If  she  declines,  you  are  justified  in  leaving 
her.  She  has  no  right  to  compel  you  to  live 
an  unprincipled  life.  But  she  will  not 
decline  your  offer.  Even  Heloise  yielded 
her  opinions  and  liberal  theories  to  the 
request  of  Ablerard,  and  became  his  wife, 
you  know." 

Percy    had    been    walking    the    room 
excitedly  while  she  spoke.     As  she  ceased, 
he  turned,  and  stood    facing  her  with  his 
arms  folded. 
11 


242      A     STORY     AND     A     REVELATION. 

"  There  is  one  more  thing  to  tell  you,"  he 
said.  "  Something  which  renders  the  advice 
you  give  impossible  for  me  to  follow.  I  love 
another  woman  with  all  the  fervor  of  my 
soul,  with  all  the  strength  of  my  heart. 
Love  her  with  a  love  that  lifts  me  up  to  the 
very  gates  of  heaven,  and  purifies  my  whole 
nature  like  a  refining  fire.  I  see  her  face, 
waking  or  sleeping.  I  hear  her  voice  in  the 
silence  of  the  night,  and  above  the  roar  of 
the  street,  by  day.  It  is  a  love  which  only 
comes  to  one  man  in  a  thousand,  because 
only  one  woman  in  a  million  can  inspire  it. 
This  love  is  at  once  an  agony  and  a  rapture. 
It  asks,  it  expects  no  return.  It  fills  my  life 
full  here,  and  it  will  pervade  eternity  for  me 
when  I  die.  But,  loving  like  this,  even 
though  hopelessly,  it  would  be  sacrilege  to 
ask  any  other  woman  to  be  by  wife.  Even 
to  right  a  wrong,  one  should  not  commit  a 
greater  wrong — that  of  sinning  against  the 
holiest  and  most  sacred  emotion  which  ever 
entered  a  human  heart." 

While  he  spoke,  Helena  had  grown  crim 
son  from  brow  to  chin.  Then  she  turned 
deathly  pale,  and,  burying  her  face  in  her 


A    STORY    AND    A    REVELATION.       24S 


hands,  she  sank  into  a  chair,  sobbing 
wildly. 

When  he  had  told  her  the  story  of  his 
life,  she  had  wondered  at  the  terrible  pain  it 
gave  her  to  listen.  But  she  had  believed  it 
was  the  disappointment  she  felt  in  finding 
her  ideal  friend  so  earthly.  This  together 
with  her  sympathy  for  the  unknown  woman. 

Now,  as  she  listened  to  his  strangely 
impassioned  words,  there  came  to  her  a 
revelation  that  she  had  given  him  all  the 
pent>up  passion  of  her  soul,  all  the  pure  love 
of  her  woman's  heart.  And  to  what  end  ? 
The  knowledge  startled,  shocked  and  terri 
fied  her,  and  she  sobbed  like  a  frightened 
child. 

Percy  was  unmanned  at  the  sight  of  her 
tears,  yet  this  unexpected  outburst  filled  him 
with  sudden  hope.  After  all,  this  divine 
being,  this  goddess  did  love  him.  He  forgot 
everything,  save  that  one  fact. 

"  Helena  !"  he  cried,  kneeling  before  her, 
and  striving  to  uncover  her  face — "my 
darling,  my  queen — look  at  me — speak  to 


244      A    STOHY    AND    A    REVELATION. 

She  pushed  him  from  her,  and  rose  hur 
riedly. 

"  Oh  !"  she  sobbed,  "you  are  cruel.  Do 
you  want  to  break  two  hearts  !"  Then,  as 
if  alarmed  at  her  own  words,  she  added 
quickly,  "  You  must  go  away  now  and 
leave  me.  I  am  all  unnerved— I  can  not 
give  you  any  more  advice  to-day.  Please 
go."  But  as  he  turned  to  obey  her,  she 
called  him  back. 

* '  One  word  only  I  would  say  to  you 
now.  Do  not  tell — your  friend,  what  you 
have  told  me.  Do  not  tell  her  that  you  love 
another  woman.  It  will  be  hard  enough  for 
her  to  know  that  you  are  to  go  out  of  her 
life,  without  having  that  bitter  knowledge 
added." 

* '  God  bless  you  !"  he  cried,  his  eyes  full 
of  tears.  "You  are  the  most  generous 
woman  I  ever  dreamed  of  in  my  wildest 
visions  of  what  was  noble." 

Even  in  the  supreme  hour  of  her  own  new 
found  misery — a  misery  so  vast  it  seemed  to 
fill  the  whole  earth — Helena  thought  of  her 
rival  and  tried  to  save  her  pain.  Truly  had 
Percy  said  she  was  one  woman  in  a  million. 


THE    HARVEST     OF     TARES.  345 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  HARVEST  OF  TARES. 

ERCY  returned  to  the  Hotel,  and 
before  taking  the  train  for  New 
York,  he  wrote  Helena  a  letter. 
Its  contents  were  as  follows  : 

"Mr  QUEEN  : 

"  All  my  life  I  have  worshiped  an  ideal. 
Just  when  I  had  grown  to  believe,  that  she 
did  not  exist  save  in  my  dreams,  you  flashed 
upon  my  horizon.  I  loved  you  ;  but  I  have 
not  dared  dream  that  you  would  love  me, 
until  to-day.  I  saw  it  in  your  face,  dear, 
and  I  know  that  you  are  a  woman  who, 
once  loving,  will  love  forever.  You  know 
the  story  of  my  life.  I  am  going  abroad 
very  soon.  I  shall  remain  away,  until  this 
miserable  experience  of  which  I  told  you, 
this  terrible  error,  becomes  a  thing  of  the 
past.  I  shall  strive  to  make  myself  worthy 
of  your  respect,  of  your  love.  When  I  come 


246     THE  HARVEST  OF  TARES. 

back,  I  shall  ask  you  to  be  my  wife,  Helena. 
Until  then,  farewell.  Bead  the  verses  I  en 
close.  I  found  them  in  the  poet's  corner  of 
one  of  our  daily  papers,  and  cut  them  out, 
because  they  seemed  like  a  versified  history 
of  my  own  life.  First,  the  mirage  dream — 
then  the  jungle  of  the  senses,  then  the  cold 
world  of  fashion,  until  I  lost  faith  in  the 
existence  of  the  storied  Land  of  Love. 

"  Then  I  met  you,  and  you  taught  me 
that  the  true  kingdom  of  love  lies  in  the 
precincts  of  a  pure  home.  Farewell,  my 
sweet  saint,  my  angel  guide. 

"  PERCY  DURAND." 

The  poem  he  enclosed  we  give  below. 

THE  KINGDOM  OF  LOVE. 

In  the  dawn  of  the   day,   when  the  sea  and   the 
earth 

Reflected  the  sunrise  above, 
I  set  forth,  with  a  heart  full  of  courage  and  mirth, 

To  seek  for  the  Kingdom  of  Love. 
I  asked  of  a  Poet  I  met  on  the  way, 

Which  cross-road  would  lead  me  aright. 


THE     HARVEST     OF     TARES.  247 


And  he  said  :  "  Follow  me,  and  ere  long  you  will 

see 
Its  glistening  turrets  of  Light." 

And  soon  in  the  distance  a  city  shone  fair  j 

"  Look  yonder,"  he  said,  "  there  it  gleams  !" 
But  alas  !    for  the    hopes    that  were  doomed  to 
despair, 

It  was  only  the  Kingdom  of  Dreams. 
Then  the  next  man  I  asked  was  a  gay  cavalier, 

And  he  said  :  "  Follow  me,  follow  me," 
And  with  laughter  and  song  we  went  speeding 
along 

By  the  shores  of  life's  beautiful  sea, 

Till  we  came  to  a  valley  more  tropical  far, 

Than  the  wonderful  Vale  of  Cashmere. 
And  I  saw  from  a  bower  a  face  like  a  flower, 

Smile  out  on  the  gay  cavalier. 
And  he  said:  "  We  have  come  to  humanity's  goal — 

Here  love  and  delight  are  intense." 
But  alas  !  and  alas  !  for  the  hope  of  my  soul — 

It  was  only  the  Kingdom  of  Sense. 

As  I  journeyed  more  slowly,  I  met  on  the  road, 

A  coach  with  retainers  behind, 
And  they  said  :  "  Follow  us,  for  our  lady's  abode 

Belongs  in  the  realm  you  would  find." 


248     THE  HARVEST  OF  TAKES. 

'Twas  a  grand  dame  of  fashion,  a  newly-wed  bride; 

I  followed,  encouraged  and  bold. 
But  my  hopes  died   away,  like  the  last  gleams  of 
day, 

For  we  came  to  the  Kingdom  of  Gold. 

At  the  door  of  a  cottage  I  asked  a  fair  maid. 

"  I  have  heard  of  that  Realm,"  she  replied, 
"  But  my  feet  never  roam  from  the  Kingdom  of 
Homo, 

So  I  know  not  the  way,'7  and  she  sighed. 
I  looked  on  the  cottage,  how  restful  it  seemed  ! 

And  the  maid  was  as  fair  as  a  dove. 
Great  light  glorified  my  soul  as  I  cried, 

"  Why,  home  is  the  Kingdom  of  Love  !" 

The  following  day,  when  Percy  ushered 
himself  into  Dolores'  apartments  by  his 
latch-key,  he  was  surprised  to  find  those 
bijou  rooms  in  a  state  of  disorder.  Boxes, 
trunks,  and  packing  cases  were  scattered 
about,  while  Dolores,  attired  in  a  loose  white 
gown,  was  busily  at  work  arranging  gar 
ments  and  bric-a-bric. 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  ?"  he 
asked,  in  amazement.  "Are  you  going 
away  r 


THE     HARVEST     OF    TARES.  349 

She  lifted  her  wan,  white  face  to  his, 
with  a  look  so  pathetic,,  so  full  of  widowed 
sorrow,  that  his  heart  smote  him.  0,  Sin  ! 
how  bitter  are  thy  fruits. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  away,"  she  said. 
"Come  and  sit  down  here,  and  let  me  tell 
you  all  about  it."  And  she  led  him  to  his 
favorite  chair  and  sank  upon  the  ottoman  at 
his  feet.  "  Ever  since  you  went  away  the 
last  time,  I  have  been  thinking,  thinking, 
thinking,"  she  said,  pressing  her  hands  to 
her  head,  "until  I  nearly  grew  wild.  And 
the  result  of  it  all  is,  that  I  going  away  : 
going  to  California.  I  think  it  is  better  that 
we  should  be  parted,  at  least  for  a  time." 

She  looked  eagerly  in  his  face  ;  somehow 
she  had  fancied  that  when  he  found  she  was 
really  determined  to  go  away  from  him, 
that  his  old  love  for  her,  and  his  longing  for 
her  companionship  would  overmaster  every 
other  consideration. 

She  had  reasoned  it  all  out,  through  the 
sleepless  night. 

( '  He    will    be    surprised,    startled    and 
hurt,"  she  thought.     "He  does  not  believe 
I  have  strength  to  leave  him.     But  I  will  go 
11* 


250     THE  HARVEST  OF  TARES. 

— and  he  shall  follow  me  and  sue  hard, 
before  I  return  to  him.  Not  until  I  am 
gone  will  he  fully  realize  what  my 
love  has  been  to  him.  If  I  were  his  wife, 
now,  I  could  not  go,  and  he  would  know  I 
could  not.  When  he  stops  and  thinks  what 
this  step  might  mean — and  all  it  might 
mean,  I  know  he  will  regret  having  driven 
me  to  it.  Even  if  he  has  tired  of  me  him 
self,  man-like,  he  will  dread  the  possibility 
of  my  going  to  another  lover — as  many 
women  in  my  situation  would  do.  But  go 
where  I  will  I  shall  be  true  to  him — oh,  so 
true  !  for  I  must  love  him,  and  him  only  till 
I  die.  It  is  my  fate." 

So  she  had  talked  to  herself  while  she 
made  her  plans.  Now,  when  she  had  told 
him  that  she  was  going  away,  she  looked 
up  in  his  face,  expecting  to  see  surprise  and 
chagrin.  Instead,  she  saw  only  relief, 
intense  relief. 

"  Yes,  Dolores,  it  is  better  that  we  should 
part,  even  as  you  say,"  he  answered. 
"  There  is  a  better  and  a  truer  life  for  each 
of  us,  than  the  life  we  are  living,  even  if  it 
is  a  lonelier  one.  We  have  made  a  great 


THE     HARVEST    OF     TARES.  251 

mistake,  but  we  can  rectify  it  in  a  measure, 
by  parting  now." 

All  hope  died  in  her  heart.  Her  face 
flushed,  her  breast  heaved  with  violent 
emotion. 

"You  are  late  in  finding  this  out  !"  she 
said,  bitterly  ;  "  but  I  believe  it  is  customary 
w^ith  men,  to  never  discover  mistakes  of  this 
kind,  until  the  woman's  life  is  wrecked.  It 
is  so  very  natural  for  a  man  to  moralize 
standing  on  a  crushed  and  ruined  heart." 

"  Dolores,  let  us  part  without  any  bitter 
words,  for  heaven's  sake  !"  he  cried.  "  Our 
mistake,  our  sin,  whatever  we  may  choose 
to  call  it,  has  been  mutual.  I  never  lured 
you  to  destruction  ;  I  never  deceived  you  ; 
I  never  meant  to  wrong  you.  You  under 
stood  the  world,  you  were  no  ignorant  girl  : 
you  were  a  woman,  old  enough  to  know  the 
importance  of  the  step  I  proposed." 

' i  Had  I  been  a  young  girl  I  should  never 
have  yielded,"  she  answered.  "It  is  the 
ripe  fruit  which  falls  when  a  south  wind 
shakes  the  tree." 

"Well,  you  must  not  forget  that  we 
Agreed  upon  the  course  of  action  which  has 


252  THE     HARVEST     OF     TAKES. 


resulted  in  our  misery.  Neither  should 
blame  the  other.  Let  us  part  friends,  not 
enemies." 

"  Friends  !"  and  all  of  wounded  pride  and 
scorned  love,  and  hopeless  passion  was  in 
her  voice  as  she  repeated  the  word. 

Ah  !  when  will  a  man  ever  learn  that  he 
cannot  offer  a  more  cruel  insult  to  a  woman 
he  has  once  professed  to  love,  than  to  call 
her  his  "friend." 

Percy  felt  great  drops  of  perspiration 
starting  out  on  his  brow.  He  drew  his 
handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  and  with  it  a 
letter  fluttered  and  fell  at  Dolores'  feet. 

She  picked  it  up,  and  she  might  have 
returned  it  without  a  glance  at  the  superscrip 
tion  had  not  Percy  sprung  forward  with  a 
guilty  flush,  crying  hurriedly, 

"Excuse  my  awkwardness  ;  give  me  the 
letter,  please  ?" 

Then  she  glanced  down  upon  it.  It  was 
addressed  in  a  delicate  feminine  penmanship, 
and  the  date  of  the  post-mark  was  not  a 
week  old. 

A  sudden  suspicion  fired  her  blood ;  her 


THE     HARVEST     OF    TARES.  253 

pansy  eyes  blazed  black  as  sloes  as  she  turned 
them  on  Percy's  tell-tale  face. 

"  So  !"  she  said,  slowly  and  mockingly; 
1  i  there  is  a  cause  for  all  this  excess  of  moral 
ity,  mon  ami,  is  there  ?" 

"Give  rne  the  letter,  please?"  was  his 
only  response. 

She  took  a  step  back,  and  looked  at  him 
with  defiant  eyes. 

"  I  demand  to  know  the  contents  of  this 
letter  before  I  return  it!"  she  said.  "  If  it  in 
110  way  relates  to  our  proposed  separation, 
you  will  not  fear  to  show  it  to  me.  If  it 
does,  I  have  a  right  to  know." 

He  looked  at  her  coldly,  and  his  words,  as 
they  fell,  pierced  her  like  poisoned  arrows. 

"You  have  no  right  to  demand  any 
thing  of  the  kind,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  Our 
relations  are  simply  with  each  other.  We 
have  always  understood  that,  I  believe.  You 
are  not  that  most  despised  object  in  your 
own  eyes,  Dolores — a  wife.  Therefore  you 
have  no  right  to  question  me  concerning  my 
correspondence.  'The  letter,  please." 

She  threw  it  at  his  feet.  "  Take  it !"  she 
cried,  "but  remember,  Percy  Durand,  as 


254     THE  HARVEST  OF  TARES. 

God  hears  me,  no  other  woman  shall  be  your 
wife  while  I  live." 

He  turned  toward  the  door  without  a 
word.  But  as  he  went,  he  took  her  latch 
key  from  his  pocket  and  dropped  it  care 
lessly  on  the  open  leaf  of  her  ebony  desk. 

That  one  act,  said  more  effectually  than 
the  bitterest  words  could  have  said,  that  all 
was  at  an  end  between  them.  He  was  no 
longer  her  comrade,  her  friend,  her  lover, 
who  came  and  went  at  will ;  he  was  a 
stranger,  who,  if  he  ever  came  again,  would 
come  in  the  capacity  of  a  guest. 

She  flung  out  her  arms  with  a  wild  cry  : 

"  Percy,  Percy,  come  back  !  Do  not  leave 
me  like  this— I  cannot  bear  it. " 

He  turned  back,  moved  by  the  passionate 
pain  of  her  voice. 

As  he  turned,  his  eye  fell  upon  an  old 
photograph,  lying  among  a  parcel  of  letters, 
in  the  open  tray  of  a  partially  packed  trunk. 

"  Who  is  this,  Dolores  ?"  he  asked,  pick 
ing  up  the  card,  and  standing  as  if  trans 
fixed. 

Dolores  went  forward  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder.  She  thought  he  was  relenting 


THE     HARVEST     OF     TARES.  255 

toward  her,  and  if  a  reconciliation  seemed 
possible,  she  desired  it  at  any  cost. 

Ah  !  pitying  heaven !  how  at  the  mercy 
of  the  weakest  man,  the  strongest  woman  is, 
if  she  loves  him. 

"  That  ?"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  gently 
011  his  arm,  "  that  is  an  old  picture  of  a 
school-mate  of  mine,— oh,  how  long  ago  it 
seems  !  She  was  the  only  intimate  friend  I 
ever  had  until  I  met  Mrs.  Butler.  And  yet 
I  have  utterly  lost  all  trace  of  her.  Our 
correspondence  died  a  natural  death,  before 
I  had  been  two  years  abroad." 

"  What  was  her  name?"  asked  Percy,  and 
his  heart  almost  stood  still  to  listen  to  her 
reply. 

"  Her  name  was  Lena — Helena  Maxon. 
She  lived  in  a  pretty  place  called  Elm  Hill. 
I  suppose  she  is  married  and  the  mother  of 
a  family  ere  this.  She  was  just  the  kind  of 
girl  to  marry  young,  and  she  was  abnor 
mally  fond  of  babies,  I  remember.  She 
actually  brought  her  doll  to  school  with  her, 
when  she  was  seventeen  years  old." 

Dolores  talked  on  volubly,  glad  to  forget 
the  torturing  scene  of  a  few  moments  be- 


256     THE  HARVEST  OF  TARES. 

fore.  She  fancied  that  he  felt  the  same, 
and  that  he  was  asking  these  questions 
simply  to  bridge  over  their  quarrel. 

Percy  thought  the  room  was  whirling 
around  him.  He  sat  down  in  a  neighboring 
chair. 

"  I  wonder  you  never  spoke  of  her  to  me 
before!"  he  said.  "She  has  an  interesting 
face.  I  did  not  know  you  had  such  a 
friend  in  America.  Why  have  you  never 
looked  her  up  ?" 

She  gazed  at  him  in  questioning  surprise, 
his  voice,  his  manner  were  so  strange. 

"I  think  I  mentioned  her  to  you  when  I 
told  you  the  story  of  my  Uncle's  death," 
she  answered,  pleasantly,  eager  to  win  him 
to  good  humor  again.  "  While  abroad,  our 
lives  drifted  so  far  apart,  I  seldom  recalled 
the  old  intimacy.  Since  my  return— I  have 
hardly  felt  situated  to  seek  a  renewal  of  our 
acquaintance.  It  might  have  been  embar 
rassing  for  both  of  us,  Percy,  and  you  know 
I  have  not  felt  the  need  of  any  friend  or 
companion  but  you." 

He  laid  down  the  picture  and  covered  his 
eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  it. 


THE     HARVEST     OF     TARES.  257 

" My  God  !"  he  cried,  suddenly,  "it  can 
not  be  true— it  is  too  terrible." 

Dolores'  jealous  suspicions  concerning  the 
letter  took  definite  shape  and  form. 

"Why  are  you  talking  so  strangely?" 
she  asked,  facing  him  suddenly.  "Do  you 
know  Helena  Maxon,  Percy  ?  Have  you  ever 
met  her  '?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  know  her— I 
have  met  her.  Oh,  Dolores,  I  wish  to  God  I 
were  dead." 

"I  wish  we  both  were  !"  she  cried  pas 
sionately.  "  I  wish  God  had  sent  death  to  us 
there  in  that  Andean  valley,  when  some 
thing  told  me,  that  we  were  never  to  be  so 
happy  again."  Then,  growing  excited,  she 
clenched  her  slender  hands  and  stood  before 
him,  speaking  in  a  low  suppressed  voice. 
"You  shall  never  marry  her,  never!"  she 
cried.  "  I  can  hinder  it.  When  we  were  in 
Santiago,  you  registered  me  as  your  wife,  to 
avoid  gossip.  To  Lorette,  you  have  called 
me  Madame  Percy — your  wife.  These 
things,  told  in  a  court  of  justice,  would 
prevent  you  from  making  another  woman 


258  THE     HARVEST     OF    TARES. 


your  wife.  I  will  follow  you  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth  to  prevent  it. " 

Percy  put  his  hands  to  his  head  in  a 
dazed  way 

"  Don't !"  he  protested  wearily.  "  I  am  ill, 
suffering,  Dolores.  Let  us  end  this  miserable 
scene.  I  have  no  idea  of  making  any 
woman  my  wife.  It  would  be  an  insult 
to  any  good  woman  to  ask  her  to  take 
the  remnant  of  my  miserable  existence. 
"I  am  going  abroad  at  once — to-morrow; 
and  I  hope  you  will  continue  your  prepara 
tions  for  your  journey.  And  now,  good  by— 
I  am  too  ill  to  endure  another  word  to-day." 

He  loosened  the  hold  she  had  taken  on 
his  arm  in  her  excitmeiit,  and  almost  stag 
gered  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  stairs. 


A     STRANGE    MARRIAGE.  259 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 

A     STRANGE     MARRIAGE. 

HEN  Percy  returned  to  his  apart 
ments    he    found    a    letter    from 
Helena    awaiting   him.       It    was 
written  in  reply  to  his,  posted  to 
her  before  leaving  Centerville. 

His  head  was  aching,  and  his  vision 
blurred  strangely  as  he  read  the  written 
words.  It  began  without  an  address, 
abruptly. 

'*  I,  too,  have  worshiped  an  ideal  all  my 
life.  A  man  without  reproach,  and  above 
dishonor.  A  man  strong  in  all  manly  attri 
butes,  strong  in  his  loves  and  his  emotions, 
but  strong,  too,  in  his  pride,  and  in  his  will 
power.  I  think  God  never  bestows  the  one 
without  the  other  ;  but  man  too  often  culti 
vates  the  former  and  leaves  the  latter  unused. 
For  the  ideal  I  so  worshiped,  I  kept  my 
heart  free  and  my  soul  unsullied.  When  you 


260  A     STRANGE     MARRIAGE. 

came,  all  unconsciously  I  invested  you  with 
the  attributes  of  my  ideal.  All  uncon 
sciously — until  too  late  to  place  a  guard  upon 
my  unwise  heart— it  poured  out  its  long -hid 
den  treasures.  So  suddenly  the  knowledge 
came  upon  me,  that  I  betrayed  to  you  what 
had  been  wiser  to  conceal.  Wiser,  because 
added  to  the  Creator's  uneven  distribution  of 
pains  and  penalties,  the  world  bestows  its 
merciless  condemnation  upon  the  woman 
who  reveals  that  which  is  so  difficult  to  hide. 

God  formed  man  and  woman  out  of  the 
self -same  clay  !  breathed  into  their  bodies 
the  self -same  breath  of  life — endowed  them 
with  the  self -same  human  nature.  But  a 
civilized  Society  permits  man  to  exult  in  a 
display  of  the  emotions  which  it  demands 
that  woman  shall  mask  or  deny. 

' '  Upon  the  weaker  being  devolves  the 
double  duty  of  fighting  against  the  aggressive 
impulses  of  the  stronger,  while  she  controls 
her  own. 

She  who  fails  to  do  this,  loses  the  esteem 
of  the  man  who  has  awakened  the  slumber 
ing  passions  of  her  heart. 

That  I  love  you,  I  will  not  attempt  to 


A    STRANGE    MARRIAGE.  261 

deny.  I  think  God  meant  us  for  each  other 
in  the  beginning.  But  I  give  much  to  the 
man  I  love,  when  I  give  myself,  penniless 
and  nameless  though  I  am,  I  give  a  whole 
heart,  untouched  by  any  belittling  half -loves 
or  debasing  jealousies.  While  I  have  waited 
for  the  coming  of  the  King,  I  have  allowed 
no  pretender  to  occupy  the  throne  in  my 
heart,  even  for  an  hour.  I  have  given  no 
man  on  earth  the  right  to  think  I  loved  him, 
until  you  came.  No  man  exists  who  can 
point  his  hand  at  me  and  say,  '  we  were  lov 
ers  once.'  Has  not  she  who  gives  a  stainless 
womanhood,  a  pure,  wholesome  body,  and  a 
true,  warm  heart,  the  right  to  demand  much 
in  return  ?  She  either  undervalues  her  own 
worth,  or  overvalues  the  worth  of  any  man, 
it  seems  to  me,  who  does  not  demand  it. 

And  yet,  knowing  the  story  of  your  life, 
in  all  its  tragic  details,  its  temptations,  and 
its  trials,  I  have  felt  to-day  many  times, 
that  I  loved  as  deeply  or  as  unwisely  as  other 
women  have  loved — loved  enough  to  find  my 
happiness  in  reforming  the  object  of  my  affec 
tions.  Let  no  man  consider  this  a  woman's 
true  sphere.  If,  out  of  the  vastness  of  her 


262  A     STRANGE     MARRIAGE. 

love,  she  is  willing  to  lean  down  to  him,  let 
him  bow  in  reverence  before  her  :  not  lightly 
taking  it  as  her  duty  and  his  right. 

But  while  I  love  you,  and  must  love 
you  forever,  even  as  you  have  said,  I  can 
never  be  your  wife. 

I  cannot  lead  you  into  your  newly-found 
Kingdom  of  Love,  when  by  so  doing  I  must 
tread  upon  another  woman's  bleeding  heart. 
I  could  not  accept  happiness  bought  at  the 
price  of  another's  misery  and  despair. 

Over  the  fairest  day  the  future  could 
prepare  for  us,  there  would  always  hang  the 
shadow  of  another's  life-long  sorrow. 

Could  I  answer  you  otherwise,  under 
the  circumstances,  I  would  not  be  worthy  of 
your  love.  Yet,  if  I  did  not  know  that  this 
life  is  only  a  very  small  portion  of  our  exist 
ence,  I  might  be  so  mad  with  selfish  passion 
that  I  should  forget  every  consideration  save 
my  love  for  you. 

But  I  believe  that  those  who  belong  to 
each  other  spiritually  will  find  each  other 
and  dwell  together  through  eternities  of 
love. 

I  believe  we  shall.     But  while  here,  on 


A     STRANGE    MARRIAGE.  263 

earth,  we  must  make  ourselves  worthy  of 
that  life,  by  unselfish  thoughtfulness  of 
others,  by  self-denial,  and  suffering,  if  need 
be.  You  have  made  a  terrible  mistake, 
which  can  only  be  atoned  for  by  a  life  of 
repentance  and  resolve.  And  I  must  suffer 
with  you.  The  great  wrong,  in  a  mistake  or 
a  sin  like  yours,  is  that  it  reaches  out  and 
injures  those  who  are  guiltless.  Two  people 
make  laws  unto  themselves  and  say,  '  It  is 
no  one's  business — we  wrong  no  one  save 
ourselves.'  Yet  invariably  others  are  event 
ually  wronged. 

No  soul  ever  transgressed  a  divine  law 
of  morality,  without  injuring  some  innocent 
being. 

There  is  no  absolute  individuality.  We 
are  all  linked  and  lashed  together  by  invisi 
ble  but  indestructible  threads,  spun  down 
from  the  Great  Source.  When  any  man 
attempts  to  extricate  himself  from  others 
and  stand  alone,  a  guide  and  god  unto  him 
self,  he  but  more  hopelessly  interlaces  and 
snarls  the  web  which  unites  us  all. 

You,  my  friend,  have  snarled  the  threads 
about  us  :  but  even  in  my  pain  there  lies 


264  A    STRANGE    MARRIAGE. 

a  joy  in  the  consciousness  that  I  suffer 
through,  and  with  you.  It  is  sweeter  than 
to  rejoice  with  another.  In  the  beginning 
of  time,  God  married  our  souls  ;  that  we  are 
separated  during  one  brief  stage  of  existence 
cannot  hinder  our  final  eternal  union.  Be 
true  to  your  new  self,  and  '  run  your  race  in 
patience,  for  you  are  surrounded  by  a  cloud 
of  witnesses.'  God  bless  you,  and  adieu. 

"  HELENA." 

A  chill  that  seemed  to  shake  the  marrow 
in  his  bones  and  the  core  in  his  heart, 
seized  upon  Percy  as  he  laid  the  letter  down. 
He  disrobed  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  rolled 
himself  up  in  the  covers  of  his  warm  bed, 
but  he  felt  as  if  he  were  packed  in  ice, 
despite  all  his  efforts,  until  the  return  of  the 
fever  set  his  veins  on  fire. 

Dr.  Sydney  smiled  grimly,  with  an  "I 
told  you  so "  expression,  when  he  again 
stood  by  Percy's  bed-side.  But  Percy  did  not 
wait  to  hear  his  accusing  words. 

"  I  have  resigned  myself  to  my  fate,  you 
see,  doctor,"  he  said,  "and  I  am  convinced 
that  you  know  more  than  I  do.  I  think  I 


A     STRANGE     MARRIAGE.  265 

am  going  to  be  very  sick  ;  and  I  want  you 
to  tell  me  the  exact  truth  about  myself,  as  I 
have  some  very  important  directions  to 
leave  concerning  my  affairs,  if  there  is  the 
least  hope  of  my  death." 

"Hope!"  echoed  Dr.  Sydney,  "  Tut, 
tut,  man,  what  are  you  talking  in  that  vein 
for — a  young,  handsome,  fortunate  fellow 
like  you,  with  all  your  life  before  you  T 

Percy  smiled  sadly. 

"  My  life  is  all  behind  me,  unfortunately, 
Doctor,"  he  said.  "At  least  the  best  oppor 
tunities  of  it  are,  and  they  lie  among  tares 
—lost  in  a  rank  growth  of  wild  oats.  It  is 
all  very  well  to  say  that  every  man  must 
plant  that  crop — but  I  realize  when  too  late 
that  I  must  reap  the  harvest  as  well ;  and  it 
has  filled  my  store-house  so  full,  there  is  no 
room  for  one  golden  sheaf  of  wheat." 

"  Might  thresh  your  wheat  then,  in  the 
stack,  and  sell  it  without  storing  it,"  sug 
gested  the  old  doctor,  facetiously,  as  he  held 
Percy's  pulse  between  his  thumb  and  finger. 
"  Fall  wheat  brings  good  prices  now.  H'm  ! 
pretty  high  fever — how's  your  tongue  ?" 

"Pretty  sick,  pretty  sick,  my  boy  !"   he 

12 


266  A     STRANGE    MARRIAGE. 

said,  as  he  finished  his  examination.  "  Liver 
in  an  awful  state.  That's  what  makes  you 
want  to  die,  and  all  that.  A  diseased  liver 
and  melancholy  views  of  life  are  as  natural 
companions  as  a  boy  and  u  piece  of  string. 
If  you  don't  object,  I'll  call  counsel  ?" 

Percy  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Then  I  am  in  danger  ?" 

' 'Possibly,  not  positively.  I  see  indica 
tions  that  lead  me  to  think  an  abcess  is 
forming  on  your  liver.  But  I  am  not  sure 
of  it." 

' '  In  case  there  is  ?" 

' '  In  case  there  is,  you  will  have  to  sub 
mit  to  an  operation. " 

u  And  such  operations  are  often  fatal, 
are  they  not,  in  their  results  ?  Frequently 
so." 

Dr.  Sydney  hesitated. 

"They  are  sometimes  fatal,"  he  said. 
"  You  would. require  skillful  treatment,  and 
careful  nursing.  I  must  obtain  a  good  nurse 
for  you,  at  once,  and  I  would  like  to  call  in 
Dr.  Manville." 

Dr.  Manville,  after  a  thorough  examina 
tion,  and  diagnosis  of  the  case,  agreed  with 


A    STRANGE     MARRIAGE.  267 

Dr.  Sydney  in  relation  to  the  symptoms  of 
the  disease. 

"  They  are  obscure,  and  it  is  at  this  time 
difficult  to  locate  the  abcess,"  he  said  to 
Percy,  who  insisted  upon  knowing  his  exact 
condition.  "But  I  am  convinced  that  an 
operation  must  take  place  before  long. 
Your  case  is  serious ;  and  I  would  advise 
you  to  send  for  your  relatives." 

Percy  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  I  have  only  one  relative  in  the  world," 
he  said,  "and  she  is  now  in  Europe  with  her 
husband  and  children.  But  I  have  friends 
I  wish  to  send  for  at  once.  Will  you  kindly 
give  me  the  utensils  to  write  out  a  telegram, 
Doctor  ?" 

The  telegram,  when  completed,  was  ad 
dressed  to  "  Mr.  Thomas  Griffith,  Center- 
ville,  N.  Y.,"  and  read  :  "Come  at  once. 
Bring  your  wife  and  Helena.  A  matter  of 
life  and  death."  Then  followed  his  name 
and  address. 

A  few  hours  later,  they  came — startled, 
wondering,  anxious.  Dr.  Sydney  was  alone 
with  the  patient,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the 
nurse.  He  ushered  the  pale  trio  to  Percy's 


268  A     STRANGE     MARRIAGE. 

bed- side,  and  was  about  to  retire  to  an  ad 
joining  room,  when  Percy  detained  him. 

"Wait!"  he  said.  "I  want  you  to  tell 
my  friends,  Doctor,  my  exact  condition, 
just  as  you  have  told  me.  Spare  nothing. " 

Dr.  Sydney  did  as  Percy  requested. 
"  And  now,"  added  Percy,  "I  wish  to  say 
for  myself  that  I  have  no  expectations  of 
recovery.  I  do  not  want  to  live,  and  I  shall 
make  no  effort  to  assist  my  medical  advisers 
in  restoring  me  to  health.  And  since  I  must 
die,  Helena;  let  me  make  you  my  wife.  Let 
me  leave  you  the  lawful  heir  of  my  other 
wise  useless  wealth — and  let  your  hands 
minister  to  my  last  wants  while  on  earth. 
It  will  not  be  long  ;  but  that  brief  time  will 
be  rendered  the  happiest  of  my  whole  life, 
if  I  can  have  your  care,  and  companionship. 
Helena  will  you  not  consent  ?" 

Mrs.  Griffith  was  sobbing  and  Mr.  Griffith 
and  Dr.  Sydney  were  wiping  their  eyes. 

Helena  alone  was  tearless.  But  her  heart 
seemed  dying  within  her,  so  sudden,  so  ter 
rible,  so  unexpected  was  this  situation. 

"Helena,  will  you  consent?"  Percy  re 
peated. 


A     STRANGE     MARRIAGE.  269 

"  I  cannot,  oh,  I  cannot  !"  she  cried. 

"Helena!"  It  was  Mrs.  Griffith  who 
spoke  now  through  her  sobs.  "  Helena,  you 
are  cruel.  Don't  you  know  it  is  a  dying  man 
you  are  refusing  to  make  happy  upon  his 
death-bed  ?" 

"There  maybe  one  chance  for  his  life, 
and  you  are  ruining  that.  It  is  murder  !"  Mr. 
Griffith  added. 

"  He  needs  some  tender  woman's  care- 
he  must  have  it!"  said  the  Doctor.  "No 
money  can  buy  the  kind  of  care  and  nurs 
ing  he  needs  during  the  next  month  or  six 
weeks." 

Helena  put  her  hands  to  her  temple,  with 
a  distracted  gesture.  "  Oh— you  do  not  any 
of  you  understand!"  she  cried;  "it  is  not 
my  place — Percy,  may  I  see  you  alone  a 
moment  ?" 

' '  H'm — h'm  !  quite  a  romance  here  !" 
mused  Dr.  Sydney,  as  he  trotted  out  of  the 
room  with  his  hands  clasped  under  his  coat- 
tails.  "  Liver  trouble  and  love  affairs 
together  —  bad  complication  —  very  bad. 
Enough  to  pull  any  man  down.  Hope  the 
girl  will  marry  him  and  nurse  him.  She  has 


270  A    STRANGE     MARRIAGE. 

the  look  of  a  born  mother  in  her  face.  Some 
women  have.  They  always  make  good 
nurses. " 

Meanwhile,  Helena  was  kneeling  by 
Percy's  bed-side,  her  hands  clasping  his,  her 
face  luminous  with  love  and  her  heart  torn 
with  conflicting  emotions. 

' '  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling !"  she  cried, 
passionately,  "it  is  not  that  I  do  not  love 
you  enough  to  forgive  all  that  has  occurred, 
in  this  solemn  hour,  and  devote  myself  to 
your  care.  But  I  think  of  her — )~ou  have 
belonged  to  her — she  has  loved  you  and 
shared  your  life ;  and  now,  to  come  sud 
denly  forward,  to  displace  her,  to  take  your 
name,  your  fortune,  and  the  sad,  sacred 
duty  of  ministering  to  perhaps  your  last 
wants  on  earth — oh,  it  seems  cruel— heart 
less  !  It  is  her  right — not  mine." 

"And  now  listen  to  me  quietly,"  Percy 
answered,  as  he  stroked  her  hair  gently. 
"She  whom  you  mention  is  not  within 
call,  even  if  I  desired  her  presence.  When  I 
returned  from  Centerville,  I  found  her  all 
packed  to  go  to  California.  I  bade  her 
adieu — with  the  understanding  that  it  was 


A     STRANGE     MARRIAGE.  271 

our  last  farewell — and  she  supposes  me  now 
preparing  for  a  trip  to  Europe.  She  does 
not  need  my  fortune,  and  she  never  desired 
my  name.  I  shall  die  happier  to  bestow 
both  on  you.  If  I  believed  there  remained 
one  possibility  of  recovery  for  me,  I  would 
never  ask  you  to  be  my  wife,  Helena,  I  am 
not,  I  never  can  be  worthy  of  you  here.  But 
I  think  I  shall  make  greater  progress  in  the 
spirit  world,  and  be  better  fitted  to  journey 
on  beside  you  there,  if  I  die  knowing  you  are 
my  wife.  Will  you  consent,  Helena  ?" 

"I  will,"  she  said,  solemnly  ;  and  leaned 
her  face,  wet  now  with  tears,  upon  his 
breast.  And  that  was  their  betrothal. 

Then,  as  gently  as  he  could,  he  told  her 
of  the  strange  discovery  he  had  made  during 
his  last  interview  with  Dolores  :  a  discovery 
Helena's  clairvoyant  perceptions  had  already 
half  divined.  From  the  hour  he  first  told 
her  his  story,  she  had  constantly  associated 
his  unknown  and  unnamed  friend  with  the 
thought  of  Dolores. 

Though  bitter  and  painful  the  actual 
knowledge  of  the  truth,  she  was  yet  spared 


A     STRANGE    MARRIAGE. 


the  ordeal  of  a  stunning  surprise  as  she 
listened  to  his  revelation. 

An  houi-  later,  the  always  solemn  and 
now  doubly-impressive  marriage  service  wras 
responded  to  by  a  bride  clothed  all  in  black, 
and  a  pallid  groom  lying  upon  his  death  -bed. 

Scarcely  was  the  ceremony  concluded, 
when  Percy  was  seized  by  a  violent  chill, 
followed  by  intense  pain,  and  other  alarm 
ing  symptoms.  The  morning  found  him 
greatly  reduced  in  strength,  and  unable  to 
move  upon  the  pillow  without  a  groan  of 
agony  ;  throughout  the  day  he  grew  rapidly 
worse,  and  every  hope  of  ultimate  recovery 
was  abandoned. 

'  '  I  doubt  if  he  lives  to  endure  the  opera 
tion  which  must  take  place  shortly,"  Dr.  Syd 
ney  said  to  Mr.  Griffith  in  the  afternoon,  as 
he  paused  by  the  door  before  descending  the 
stairs.  "He  has  passed  through  too  much 
mental  excitement  during  the  last  twenty  - 
f  our  hours.  He  has  developed  most  alarming 
symptoms  since  midnight,  which  complicate 
the  case  seriously.  Permit  no  one  to  see 
him  to-day  ;  leave  this  door  open  occasion 
ally  to  allow  circulation  of  fresh  air." 


A    STRANGE    MARRIAGE.  273 

As  he  turned  to  go,  a  boy  in  messenger's 
costume,  presented  himself  at  the  door. 
"  Message  for  Mr.  Durand,"  he  said,  smartly. 
"  Thirty  cents  due." 

Dr.  Sydney  gave  the  boy  a  slight  push. 

"  Go  along  with  you,"  he  growled.  "  Mr. 
Durand  is  sick — he  may  not  live  till  morn 
ing.  Go  tell  your  employer  not  to  bother  us 
at  such  a  time  with  messages." 

The  boy  hurried  away,  as  if  frightened  at 
the  close  proximity  of  death  to  the  locality. 

"I  shall  call  again  this  evening,"  Dr. 
Sydney  added,  as  he  went  slowly  down  the 
stairs ;  and  then  he  muttered  to  himself : 
i  i  A  serious  case,  a  serious  case. " 


274  DEAD    IN     HER    BED. 


CHAPTEK  XXII. 

DEAD      IN      HER      BED. 

S  the  door  closed  upon  Percy  after 
that     tragic     interview,     Dolores 
stood  and  listened  to  his  departing 
footsteps,  until  the  last  echo  died 
away. 

Then  she  flung  herself  down  among  the 
objects  which  were  all  associated  with  their 
happy  hours  of  love  and  companionship, 
while  dry  despairing  sobs  shook  her  frail 
form. 

"Oh,  Christ,  pity  me!  my  life  is  all  in 
ruins,  all  in  ruins  !"  she  moaned,  "  Father — 
Mother — God,  why  did  you  curse  me  with 
the  existence  I  never  desired  ?" 

After  a  time,  she  rose  up  and  tried  to  set 
her  apartment  in  order.  Every  where  she 
turned  her  eyes,  they  were  greeted  with 
some  reminder  of  her  life  with  Percy.  Here 
was  a  souvenir  of  the  happy  bohemian  days, 


DEAD     IN     HER     BED.  275 


in  Paris.  There  a  momento  of  that  fatal 
ice-boat  journey.  Fatal,  because  she  be 
lieved  it  Tras  during  that  dangerous  experi 
ence  that  Mrs.  Butler  contracted  the  illness 
which  resulted  in  her  death  ;  and  because  on 
that  day,  Percy  really  passed  from  the  posi 
tion  of  friend  to  lover.  Then,  as  she  opened 
a  book,  trying  to  divert  her  tortured  mind 
from  these  memories,  out  dropped  a  pressed 
fern,  gathered  in  the  Andean  valley.  She 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands ;  she 
seemed  to  see  again  the  fading  glory  of  that 
wonderful  sunset,  the  towering  steeples  of 
granite,  and  again  she  could  hear  the  saucy 
Ta-ha-ha  of  the  arajojo  bird. 

It  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  She 
rose  hurriedly,  and  walked  across  the  room, 
weeping  silently. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  old  faded 
photograph,  which  Percy  had  dropped 
beside  the  chair  he  occupied.  She  picked 
it  up  and  gazed  upon  it  with  passionate  fury, 
distorting  her  beautiful  face, 

''Curse  you,  curse  you!"  she  almost 
shrieked,  and  tearing  the  card  in  a  thousand 
fragments,  she  trampled  them  under  her 


276  DEAD     IN     HER     BED. 


feet,  and  fell  in  a  dead  swoon  upon  the  floor 
beside  them. 

It  was  dark  when  she  returned  to  con 
sciousness.  She  groped  her  way  toward 
her  couch,  and,  throwing  herself  upon  it,  fell 
into  a  troubled  sleep,  which  lasted  until  the 
entrance  of  Lorette  the  following  day. 

She  awoke  to  renewed  suffering,  and 
spent  wretched  hours  in  forming  a  thousand 
futile  plans  of  revenge.  Scarcely  having 
tasted  food  since  Percy's  departure,  she  felt 
her  strength  leaving  her.  And  with  her 
strength,  went  her  anger,  resentment  and 
pride.  During  the  long  sleepless  night,  of 
the  second  day,  the  desire  to  see  Percy 
again  overmastered  every  other  feeling. 
The  intensity  of  her  love  seemed  to  increase, 
as  her  physical  vigor  lessened.  The  knowl 
edge  that,  no  matter  how  she  destroyed  his 
happiness,  or  ruined  his  hopes  in  life,  she 
must  still  love  him,  and  live  without  him, 
bore  down  upon  her  heart  like  a  burning 
weight,  and  put  to  flight  all  desire  for 
revenge.  The  one  thing,  the  only  thing 
which  made  the  future  worth  living,  was  a 
reconciliation  with  Percy. 


DEAD     IN     HER     BED.  277 

She  rose  and  sat  by  her  window  in  the 
chill,  gray  dawn. 

"He  must  come  back  tome,  he  must," 
she  whispered,  "  at  any  cost  I  I  have  given 
up  the  whole  world  for  his  love,  for  his  com 
panionship.  Even  if  his  love  has  been  given 
to  another,  he  must  still  give  me  his  com 
panionship.  I  will  see  him — I  will  send  for 
him  to-day,  and  tell  him  so." 

A  strange  idea  had  presented  itself  to  her 
feverish,  suffering  heart.  An  idea  born  of 
her  wild  love  and  her  crushed  and  ruined 
pride.  In  the  silent  watches  of  the  night, 
the  thought  had  come  to  her,  that  even  if 
Percy  made  Helena  his  wife,  he  might  still 
give  her  (his  comrade,  his  long-time  confi 
dant  and  friend) — his  occasional  affectionate 
companionship.  If  she  submitted  quietly 
and  passively  to  his  marriage,  he  might  not 
wholly  cast  her  off.  She  believed  that 
society  was  full  of  men,  respectable  citizens 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world — who  retained  their 
intimate  lady  friends  after  marriage.  And 
she  knew  that  the  United  States  Govern 
ment  permitted  a  large  and  increasing 


278  DEAD     IN     HER     BED. 

colony  to  exist,  where  men  retained  any 
number  of  wives. 

Surely,  if  any  woman  on  earth  had  the 
right  to  be  so  retained,  it  was  she.  And 
Percy  would  see  it  so — and  he  would  not 
cast  her  off.  She  could  scarcely  wait  for 
the  day  to  advance,  to  send  for  him  and  lay 
the  plan  before  him. 

She  had  not  the  faintest  comprehension 
of  the  mighty  magnitude  or  the  exalted 
nature  of  the  love  which  had  sprung  to  life 
in  Percy's  heart  for  Helena.  She  believed  it 
to  be  the  passing  fancy  of  the  hour — a  sud 
den  passion  of  the  senses.  She  remembered 
the  subtle  magnetism  which  Helena  pos 
sessed  in  days  of  old — a  peculiar  power  of 
drawing  people  to  her — of  attracting  them 
and  winning  their  confidence  with  no  seem 
ing  effort  of  her  own.  She  remembered 
how  popular  she  was  in  Madame  Scranton's 
Academy — and  in  those  days  she  had  be 
lieved  it  to  be  the  mesmerism  of  her  eyes, 
that  won  the  hearts  of  her  companions. 
Percy  was,  no  doubt,  affected  by  this  mys 
terious  influence  which  fascinated  every  one 
who  lingered  long  in  Helena's  presence.  But 


DEAD     IN     HER     BED.  279 

it  would  pass  away — and  his  love  for  her, 
his  ideal  mate  and  comrade,  would  burn 
again  with  greater  lustre,  if  she  waited  pa 
tiently. 

She  wrote  a  note,  full  of  humility,  beg 
ging  his  forgiveness  for  her  conduct  during 
their  last  interview,  and  asking  him  to  grant 
her  a  few  moments'  conversation  during  the 
day.  She  sent  for  a  messenger  to  carry  the 
note,  and  then  she  dismissed  Lorette  for  the 
day  and  began  to  prepare  herself  for  the  ex 
pected  guest. 

Lorette  took  her  departure  reluctantly. 
"  Madame  is  not  herself  ;  Madame  is  ill,  and 
needs  looking  after  !"  she  muttered,  as  she 
went  out,  and  many  times  during  the  day 
and  in  succeeding  clays  and  weeks,  her  light 
volatile  French  spirits  were  shadowed  by  the 
recollection  of  her  mistress's  face,  as  she  last 
saw  it. 

Dolores  was  one  of  the  few  women  who 
can  be  beautiful  even  when  suffering  mental 
and  physical  pain.  As  a  rule,  happiness  and 
health  are  necessary  cosmetics  to  beauty  ; 
but  hers  was  a  face  that  even  much  weep- 


280  DEAD     IN     HER     BED. 

ing,  and  sleepless  nights  of  torturing  pain 
could  not  disfigure. 

She  robed  herself  all  in  white,  as  Percy 
best  loved  to  see  her.  She  wore  his  favorite 
jewels,  and  a  bright  knot  of  ribbon  he  had 
once  admired,  at  her  throat.  Suddenly,  in  the 
midst  of  her  preparation,  she  paused.  The 
full  consciousness  of  her  humiliating  position 
dawned  upon  her  with  startling  force. 

"My  God  !  how  low  I  have  fallen  !"  she 
sobbed,  and  yet  she  did  not  draw  back  from 
the  resolution  she  had  formed,  to  throw  her 
self  upon  the  pity  of  the  ..man  she  loved. 

She  had  been  Queen  of  the  feast  ;  and 
now  she  was  about  to  beg  for  crumbs  from 
the  table  presided  over  by  another. 

The  hours  lagged  by  on  leaden  wings. 
Why  did  not  the  messenger  return  ? 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he 
made  his  appearance.  He  was  out  of  breath 
from  running  up  the  flight  of  stairs,  and  he 
handed  he^r  back — her  own  note. 

"Could  you  not  find  the  gentleman?  I 
told  you  to  leave  the  note  if  he  was  not 
in  !"  she  said  sharply,  so  keen  was  her  dis 
appointment. 


DEAD     IN     HER     BED.  281 

"Yes'm,  I  know  you  did,"  the  boy  an 
swered,  "but  there  was  people  there,  and 
a  doctor.  And  the  doctor  he  came  to  the 
door,  and  he  said  as  the  gentleman  mustn't 
be  disturbed — he  was  sick,  and  goiii'  to  die 
before  mornin',  perhaps.  And  I  felt  scared 
like,  and  come  off  without  leaving  the 
letter." 

The  boy  turned  away,  and  Dolores  closed 
the  door  upon  him,  quickly,  as  if  to  shut  out 
his  evil  message  with  him. 

Sick,  dying  !  and  who  were  the  people 
with  him  ?  who  had  the  right  to  be  with 
him  and  minister  to  his  needs,  save  herself  ? 
It  was  her  place — hers  only.  She  must  go 
to  him — she  must  save  him  by  the  strength 
of  her  love. 

She  did  not  wait  to  make  any  change  in 
her  attire.  She  seized  the  nearest  garment 
at  hand — a  soft  white  shawl,  and  a  hat  with 
nodding  white  plumes,  and  hurried  forth. 

When  she  reached  the  building  in  which 
Percy's  apartments  were  situated,  she  met 
the  physician  just  emerging  from  the  street 
door.  She  forced  a  calm  exterior  as  she 
addressed  him. 


DEAD     IN     HER     BED. 


"  I  came  to  ask  after  your  patient,"  she 
said.  "  Is  it  true  that  he  is  not  expected  to 
live  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  sharply.  Her  white 
attire,  her  beauty  and  her  pallor  made  her  a 
remarkable  picture  as  she  stood  there  in  the 
gathering  dusk. 

"  Are  you  a  relative  of  his  ?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,  only  a  friend  ; 
one  to  whom  he  has  been  very  kind,"  she 
answered.  ' '  But  I  want  you  to  tell  me  the 
truth.  Will  he  die  ?" 

"I  fear  he  will,"  the  old  physician  an 
swered,  gravely.  "  There  is  small  chance 
that  he  can  live  through  the  night.  If  he 
lives,  it  will  be  a  miracle."  Then  he  passed 

Oil. 

She  glided  through  the  entrance  he  had 
left  open,  and  hurried  up  the  flight  of  stairs 
that  led  to  his  rooms.  The  door  stood  ajar 
upon  the  landing.  She  pushed  it  open  and 
entered  ;  no  one  was  visible  in  the  outer 
room  which  served  as  a  parlor.  At  one  side, 
in  a  sort  of  study,  sat  a  gentleman  and  lady 
engaged  in  low  conversation  ;  but  they  did 
not  hear  her  light  footsteps  as  ghe  walked 


DEAD     IN     HER     BED.  283 

across  the  yielding  carpet,  and  stood  between 
the  velvet  portieres  which  curtained  his 
sleeping-room. 

Through  the  colored  globe  the  gas-light 
shone  with  subdued  lustre,  filling  the  apart 
ment  with  the  mellow  halo  of  an  autumn 
sunset. 

Propped  up  on  pillows  lay  Percy,  while 
above  him  leaned  the  shapely  figure  of  a 
woman  clothed  all  in  black  ;  her  dusky  hair 
and  brunette  face  showing  in  marked  con 
trast  to  the  blond  locks  and  marble  pallor  of 
the  patient. 

Her  hand  was  making  light  soothing 
passes  across  his  brow  ;  her  eyes  were  full  of 
unutterable  love  and  sorrow.  Gently  she 
drooped  over  his  pillow  and  pressed  a  light 
kiss  upon  his  closed  lids,  as  she  murmured 
— "  My  love — my  husband." 

Dolores  drew  a  deep,  gasping  breath,  like 
one  who  has  been  struck  suddenly  by  an 
unseen  foe. 

Helena  heard  the  sound,  and  turned  a 
startled  glance  in  the  direction  from  which 
it  came. 

Standing  between  the  velvet  curtains,  she 


284  DEAD     IN     HER     BED. 

saw  the  motionless  figure  of  Dolores,  majes 
tic  in  her  beauty,  her  white  garments  and 
her  golden  hair  clearly  defined  against  the 
crimson  background  of  the  draperies. 

Just  for  one  breathless,  pained  second 
the  two  women  who  had  been  schoolmates 
and  dear  friends,  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes  again.  Then,  as  Helena  made  a  move 
ment  toward  her.  Dolores  turned  her  glance 
upon  Percy — a  strange,  radiant,  triumphant 
smile  illuminating  her  face — and  vanished 
as  suddenly  as  she  had  appeared. 

As  she  made  her  way  through  the  city 
streets,  many  turned  to  look  upon  the  white- 
robed  figure,  and  the  strangely -beautiful 
smiling  face  under  the  nodding  plumes 
of  her  hat.  But  no  man  dared  speak  to  her. 
There  was  something  in  her  face  that  awed 
them,  and  protected  her  from  insult. 

She  was  still  smiling  when  she  entered 
her  own  apartment  again.  Carefully  laying 
aside  her  wraps,  she  proceeded  to  set  the 
room  in  perfect  order.  Then  she  brought 
out  a  little  ebony  box,  in  which  she  kept 
many  curious  souvenirs  of  her  life  abroad. 
In  one  corner  lay  a  small  chamois-skin  bag. 


DEAD    IN    HER    BED.  285 

She  opened  it,  and  into  a  corner  of  a  snowy 
cambric  handkerchief,  she  shook  a  portion 
of  its  contents — a  brilliant,  Crystallized  sub 
stance — and  then  replaced  the  bag  and 
locked  the  ebony  box  away  in  her  cabinet 
again. 

Laying  the  handkerchief  on  the  pillow  of 
her  couch,  she  disrobed,  brushed  out  her 
beautiful  hair,  and  leaving  the  gas  jet 
turned  low,  she  crept  into  her  snowy  bed. 
Bringing  the  handkerchief  close  to  her  face, 
she  looked  smilingly  down  on  the  tiny  crys 
tals  of  the  powder,  as  she  murmured,  "  If 
only  Madame  Volkenburg  was  not  mistaken 
—if  only  it  is  swift  and  sure,  as  she  said  ! 
Oh  Love,  Love  !  even  in  death  we  shall  not 
be  parted.  She  will  mourn  over  your  cold 
clay  ;  but  your  spirit  will  be  with  me,  with 
me !  You  would  have  lived  for  her,  but  I 
die  for  you.  Ah,  God  !  how  much  sweeter 
death  is,  than  life.  Oh,  my  Love,  my  Love, 
you  shall  not  take  the  journey  alone  !  What 
ever  the  great  mystery  is,  we  will  solve  ib 
— together.  May  Christ  receive  our  spirits." 

She  emptied  the  powder  into  her  sweetly- 
parted  lips,  folded  the  handkerchief  under 


286  DEAD     IN     HER     BED. 

her  cheek,   and   lay  quite  still,   as  if    she 
slept. 

###•** 

When  Lorette  came  in  the  morning,  she 
found  her  lying  in  the  same  position,  the 
handkerchief  under  her  cheek,  and  a  sweet, 
glad  smile  upon  her  dead  face. 

The  papers,  on  the  following  day,  reported 
the  sudden  death,  by  heart  disease,  of  beau 
tiful  Madame  Percy,  a  young  French  lady. 


BITTER    SWEET.  287 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

BITTER  SWEET. 

N   the  afternoon  of  the  next  day, 
Homer  Orton  presented  himself  at 
Percy's  apartments,  only  to  be  met 
by  Mrs.  Griffith,   and  informed  of 
that  young  man's  critical  condition. 

"  He  is  slightly  easier  to-day,"  she  said, 
"but  we  are  instructed  to  keep  him  very 
quiet.  There  is  little  hope  entertained  of  his 
recovery." 

The  journalist  stood  for  a  moment  silent, 
shocked,  bewildered.  Then  he  spoke  : 

"  I  wish  to  consult  him  upon  a  matter  of 
the  gravest  importance.  Can  you  direct  me 
to  his  most  intimate  friend  or  relative,  to 
whom  I  might  impart  some  very  serious 
information  ?  It  is  a  matter  which  cannot 
wait." 

Mrs.  Griffith  was  impressed  with  the 
earnestness  of  the  young  man's  manner. 


288  BITTER     SWEET. 

Reluctantly  she  stepped  into  the  adjoining 
study,  where  Helena's  shapely  form  lay 
stretched  upon  a  broad  lounge.  It  was  the 
first  respite  she  had  taken  from  her  position 
as  watcher.  She  seemed  to  be  sleeping,  and 
Mrs.  Griffith  spoke  her  name  softly,  unwill 
ing  to  disturb  her. 

But  Helena  was  not  sleeping.  Though 
worn  out  with  fatigue  and  excitement,  the 
memory  of  Dolores'  face,  as  it  appeared  for 
one  brief,  terrible  second  at  the  door  of 
Percy's  apartment,  drove  slumber  from  her 
pillow. 

The  consciousness  that  her  old  friend 
was  in  the  city,  near  to  her,  suffering  all 
the  agonies  of  slighted  wounded  love,  wrung 
her  gentle  heart  with  inexpressible  pain. 
She  longed  to  go  to  her,  to  take  her  in  her 
arms,  to  comfort  her.  She  longed  to  bring 
her  to  Percy's  bed-side,  and  to  say  :  "  Stay 
here  with  me  ;  together  we  will  minister  to 
his  dying  needs  ;  it  is  our  mutual  right,  our 
mutual  sorrow."  But  even  if  she  could  find 
Dolores,  that  suffering  tortured  woman 
would  turn  from  her,  in  bitterness  and 
anger.  And  Percy  must  not  know  that  she 


BITTER    SWEET.  289 

was  in  the  city  ;  the  knowledge  might 
prove  fatal  to  him  in  his  weak,  exhausted 
condition. 

She  arose  wearily  as  Mrs.  Griffith  made 
known  her  errand. 

"Do  not  let  Percy  know,  that  I  am 
disturbed :"  she  said.  "  He  made  me  promise 
to  sleep  until  evening,  without  once  leaving 
rny  couch.  He  would  be  annoyed  if  he  knew 
I  had  disobeyed  him." 

"  What !  using  authority  so  soon  f '  play 
fully  asked  Mrs.  Griffith. 

Helena  answered  only  by  a  sad  smile,  as 
she  passed  out  to  meet  Homer  Orton.  He 
arose  with  surprise,  confusion,  and  distress 
mingled  in  his  expression,  as  his  eyes  fell 
upon  a  comely  young  woman. 

"  I  had  a  very  painful  piece  of  informa 
tion  to  impart  to  Mr.  Durand,"  he  began, 
4 '  and  wished  to  ask  his  advice  on  the  proper 
course  to  pursue.  It  is,  however,  a  matter  so 
extremely  personal  and  of  such  a  delicate 
nature,  that  I  hardly  hnow  how  to  broach 
it  to  you.  Are  you— a  relative  ?" 

'  '  I  am  Mr.  Durand's  nearest  friend  and 
confidant.  We  are  very  closely  related 

13 


290  BITTER     SWEET. 


indeed,"  Helena  answered  quietly.  "  Please 
proceed  with  what  you  have  to  say." 

Homer  drew  a  copy  of  the  morning  paper 
from  his  pocket. 

' '  This  paper  reports  the  sudden  death  of 
an  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Durand,"  he  said. 
"We  both  knew  her  abroad;  but  it  seems 
she  has  been  living  in  New  York  under  an 
assumed  name,  or  at  least  under  the  name 
of  Madame  Percy.  I  recognized  her  this 
afternoon  as  I  visited  her  remains  in  com 
pany  with  another  journalist,  as  the  lady 
who  had  bestowed  most  graceful  hospitality 
upon  both  Mr.  Durand  and  myself,  while  we 
were  abroad.  I  feel  personally  interested  in 
her  as  a  friend,  and  I  am  certain,  that  he 
also  does.  Whatever  her  secrets,  or  her 
sorrows,  I  desire  to  keep  them  from  the  daily 
papers.  I  wished  the  advice  and  assistance 
of  Mr.  Durand  in  this  matter.  The  apart 
ments  of  the  deceased  lady  are  left  in  care 
of  a  French  maid  who  cannot  speak  a  word 
of  English.  Unless  some  friend  takes  charge 
of  her  effects,  it  will  be  impossible  to  avoid 
an  exposure  of  what  I  fear  is  a  painful 
history." 


BITTER     SWEET.          .  291 

"Exposure  must  be  avoided  at  any  cost," 
cried  Helena,  her  voice  choked  with  tears, 
her  heart  torn  anew  over  this  additional 
and  unexpected  sorrow.  "Madame  Percy 
was  a  dear  friend  of  mine.  I  know  her  entire 
history  ;  it  is  most  sad,  most  unfortunate, 
but  it  must  not  be  given  to  the  public  ;  it 
must  not  be  discussed  by  curious  people  who 
did  not  know  her  as  I  knew  her — to  love  and 
to  pity." 

"It  need  not  be  given  to  the  public," 
Homer  Orton  answered,  firmly.  "But  you 
must  go  at  once  and  take  charge  of  her 
effects.  The  knowledge  that  she  has  friends 
in  the  city  will  prevent  the  sensation-seekers 
from  ferreting  out  her  history.  You  can 
give  the  reporters  such  facts  as  you  choose 
concerning  her  life,  if  they  approach  you, 
and  I  will  use  my  influence  to  prevent  any 
thing  unpleasant  from  creeping  into  print." 

And  so,  while  Percy  believed  Helena  to 
be  sleeping,  she  performed  the  last  sad  rites 
for  the  woman  who  had  been  her  dearest 
friend  and  her  unintentional  foe.  With  the 
exception  of  faithful  Lorette,  she  was  the 
only  mourner  to  shed  tears  as  the  beautiful 


292  BITTER     SWEET. 


body  was  lowered  to  its  last  resting-place. 
Tears  made  more  scalding  and  bitter  by  the 
thought  of  another  burial  drawing  near, 
where  she  must  officiate  in  the  lasting  char 
acter  of  a  life-long  mourner. 

*  *  -x-  *  * 

A  story  which  closes  with  a  suicide  and  a 
death  is  not  a  pleasant  story  to  relate,  or  to 
read.  Yet  we  who  peruse  our  daily  papers, 
know  that  such  stories  are  very  true  to  life. 

It  is  gratifying  to  me,  however,  that  I 
need  not  complete  my  narrative  with  a 
double  tragedy. 

Percy  did  not  die. 

It  might  have  been  owing  to  the  mental 
condition  produced  by  the  knowledge  that 
Helena  was  really  his  wife,  or  it  might  have 
been  due  to  the  skill  of  his  physician  ;  but 
certain  it  is,  that  he  recovered — recovered,  to 
realize  that  he  had  gained  a  wife  almost  by 
' '  false  pretenses  ;"  and  that  Dolores  was  no 
longer  in  existence  upon  the  earth  where  she 
came  an  undesired  child,  and  from  which  she 
went  forth  a  suffering,  desperate  woman. 

Shocked   and   almost    crazed   with    the 


BITTER     SWEET.  393 

knowledge  of  this  tragedy,  Percy  called  Hel 
ena  to  him,  a  few  hours  after  she  had  im 
parted  the  sad  information. 

"  I  feel  like  a  cheat  and  a  liar,"  he  said  ; 
looking  mournfully  in  her  eyes,  ' '  to  think  I 
did  not  die  as  I  promised.  But  I  shall  not 
offend  you  with  my  presence  long.  As  soon 
as  my  strength  permits  I  am  going  abroad, 
to  remain  an  indefinite  time.  I  feel  that  I 
shall  never  return  to  my  native  land  ;  some 
thing  tells  me  I  shall  find  a  grave  among 
strangers.  Our  marriage  will,  of  course, 
remain  a  secret  with  the  few  who  know  it 
now,  and  need  cause  you  no  annoyance." 

Percy  followed  out  the  course  of  action 
he  had  set  for  himself,  but,  as  is  frequently 
the  case  with  presentiments  of  evil,  his 
impression  that  he  was  to  find  a  grave  among 
strangers  was  not  verified. 

He  returned,  after  two  years  spent  in 
travel,  bronzed  and  robust,  the  light  of  his 
pure  love  for  Helena  shining  more  warmly 
than  ever  in  his  blue  eyes. 

It  is  so  easy  for  a  man  to  live  down  the 
errors  that  a  woman  (Christ  pity  her)  can 
only  expiate  in  the  grave. 


294:  BITTER     SWEET. 

He  reached  out  his  arms,  when  he  once 
more  stood  face  to  face  with  Helena. 

"  Can  you  not  forgive  all  that  miserable 
darkened  past,  and  come  and  brighten  the 
future  for  me  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice  that 
was  like  a  caress.  "  I  love  you  and  I  need 
you,  Helena." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  her  eyes 
heavy  with  unshed  tears.  The  love  in  her 
heart  triumphed  over  every  preconceived 
resolve,  over  every  cruel,  agonizing  memory, 
as  great  love  always  must. 

Yet  there  are  triumphs  sadder  than  any 
defeat :  there  are  joys  more  painful  than  any 
woe.  It  was  such  a  triumph,  and  such  a  joy, 
that  filled  Helena's  heart  as  she  glided  into 
her  lover's  embrace. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can  forgive  it  all,"  she  sighed. 
"  Because  I  love  you  and  because  I  am  a 
woman.  I  sometimes  think,  Percy,  that 
God  must  be  a  woman.  He  is  expected  to 
forgive  so  much." 

Into  her  great  heart,  as  she  nestled  upon 
his  breast,  in  this  supreme  hour  of  reconcilia 
tion  and  recompense,  there  shot  a  keen, 
agonizing  memory  of  the  woman  she  had 


BITTER     SWEET.  995 


displaced  ;  of  the  woman  who  had  wrecked 
her  whole  happiness  and  lost  her  life  in  an 
unwise  love  for  this  man,  whose  tender,  pas 
sionate  words  were  falling  now  upon  willing 
ears. 

It  was  a  memory  which  must,  to  a  nature 
as  generous  and  unselfish  as  hers,  cast  a  mel 
ancholy  shadow  over  the  most  intense  hour 
of  happiness  the  future  could  hold  for  her. 

It  was  a  phantom  shape,  which  must  sit 
forever  at  her  feasts  of  love.  Percy  had 
made  to  her  a  complete  surrender  of  his  very 
soul  ;  and  she  knew  that  their  doubly  wedded 
spirits,  like  two  united  streams,  would  mix 
and  flow  on  together  to  the  ocean  of  Eternity. 
Yet  the  more  perfect  her  own  joy,  the  deeper 
into  her  sympathetic  heart  must  sink  the 
sorrowful  memories  of  Dolores. 

Always,  as  she  looked  up  to  him  with  the 
worshiping  eyes  of  a  loyal  wife,  and  saw  in 
him  her  hero,  her  ideal,  her  protector  and 
her  guide,  she  must  remember  the  young  life 
his  thoughtless,  selfish  folly  helped  to  lay  in 
ruins.  All  these  emotions,  robed  the  joy  of 
that  nuptial  hour  in  mourning,  as  she  lifted 
her  sweet,  sad  face  and  filmy  eyes  to  his. 


296  BITTER     SWEET. 

And  Percy,  folding  her  in  his  arms,  felt 
all  a  man's  selfish  pride,  and  all  a  lover's 
keen  rapture  in  the  knowledge  that  he  was 
pressing  the  first  kiss  upon  her  pure  lips, 
which  had  ever  been  placed  there  since  her 
father's  dying  benediction  fell  upon  them. 


THE    END. 


1886. 


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Earl  Wayne's  Nobility,  do.  ...  i  50 
Lost,  a  Pearle —  do.  ...  i 


Curse  of  Everleigh — Pierce 

Peerless  Cathleen — Agnew 

Faithful  Margaret — Ashmore  .. 

Nick  Whiffles— Kobinson 

Grinder  Papers— Dallas 

Lady  Leonora— Conklin 


The  Sutherlands , 

St.  Philips 

Round  Hearts  for  Children.. . 

Richard  Vandermarck    , 

Happy-Go-Lucky.  ..  (New)... 


A.  S.  Roe's  Select  Stories. 


A  Long  Look  Ahead  ...... 

I've  Been  Thinking  ........ 

Loved... 


To  Love  and  to  be 


Julie  P.  Smith's  Novels. 


The  Widower. 

The  Married  Belle 

Courting  and  Farming. 

Kiss  and  be  Friends 

Blossom  Bud (New). 


Widow  Goldsmith's  Daughter.. $i  50 

Chris  and  Otho 150 

Ten  Old  Maids 150 

Lucy i  50 

His  Young  Wife i  50 

Artemas  Ward. 
Complete  Comic  Writings — With  Biography,  Portrait  and  50  illustrations. 

The  Game  of  Whist. 
Pole  on  Whist — The  English  standard  work.     With  the  "  Portland  Rules1', 

Victor  Hugo's  Great  Novel. 

Les  Miserables — Translated  from  the  French.      The  only  complete  edition. . , 

Mrs.  Hill's  Cook  Bcok. 

Mrs.  A.  P.  Hill's  New  Southern  .Cookery  Book,  and  domestic  receipts. . 
Celia  E.  Gardner's  Novels. 

Stolen  Waters.     (Inverse) $i  50]  Tested. 


Broken  Dreams. 
Compensation. 
A  Twisted  Skein. 


do. 
do. 
do. 


..  i  50 
..  i  5° 
...  i  50 


Rich  Medway 

A  Woman's  Wiles. 
Terrace  Roses 


G.  W.  CARLE  TON  &  COSS  PUBLICATIONS. 
Captain  Mayne  Reid's  Works 


The  Scalp  Hunters 

The  Rifle  Rangers i  50 

The  War  Trail i  50 


The  White  Chief 
The  Tiger  Hunter 
The  Hunter's  Feast 
Wild  Life ... 


Osceola,  the  Semir.ole. 


5° 


The  Wood  Rangers 150 

The  Wild  Huntress 15° 

Hand-Books  of  Society. 

The  Habits  of  Good  Society — The  nice  points  of  taste  and  good  manners $ 

The  Art  of  Conversation — For  those  who  wish  to  be  agreeable  talkers 

The  Arts  of  Writing,  Reading  and  Speaking— For  Self-Improvement 

New  Diamond  Edition — The  above  three  books  in  one  volume — small  type. ... 

Josh  Billings. 

His  Complete  Writings — With  Biography,  Steel  Portrait  and  100  Illustrations.  $2  oo 
Old  Probability — Ten  Comic  Alminax,  1870  to  1879.     In  one  volume,  Illustrated,    i  50 

Charles  Dickens. 
Child's  History  of  England — With  Historical  Illustrations  for  School  use.  .  $     75 

Parlor  Table  Album  of  Dickens'  Illustrations — With  descriptive  text i  50 

Lord  Bateman  Ballad — Comic  Notes  by  Dickens  ;   Pictures  by  Cruikshank. . .        25 
Annie  Edwardes'  Novels, 

Stephen  Lawrence §     75  i  A  Woman  of  Fashion $     75 

Susan  Fielding 75  |  Archie  Lovell 75 

Ernest  Kenan's  French  "Works. 


The  Life  of  Jesus.     Translated. . .  §i  75 
Lives  of  the  Apostles.    Do.      ...    i  75 


The  Life  of  St.  Paul.    Translated.! 
The  Bible  in  India — By  Jacolliot. . 


G.  W.  Carleton.  . 

Our  Artist  in  Cuba.  Peru,  Spain  and  Algiers — 150  Caricatures  of  Travel $i  oo 

M.  M.  Pomeroy  (Brick) 


Sense.    A  serious  book $150 

Gold  Dust.       Do.          i  50 

Our  Saturday  Nights i  50 


Miscellaneous  Works. 


Nonsense.     (A  comic  book)... $i  50 

Brick-dust.  Do 50 

Home  Harmonies 50 


The  Children's  Fairy  Geography — With  hundreds  of  beautiful  illustrations.  .  $ 
Carleton's  Popular  Readings— Edited  by  Anna  Randall  Diehl.     2  vols.,  each 

Laus  Veneris,  and  other  Poems — By  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne 

Sawed-off  Sketches — Comic  book  by  "  Detroit  Free  Press  Man."  Illustrated. . 
Hawk-eye  Sketches — Comic  book  by  "  Burlinston  Hawkeye  Man."     Do. 
Naughty  Girl's  Diary— By  the  author  of  "  A  "Bad  Boy's  Diary."         Do. 

The  Culprit  Fay— Joseph  Rodman  Drake's  Poem.     With  100  illustrations 

L'Assommoir — An  English  Translation  from  Zola's  famous  French  novel 

Parlor  Amusements — Games,  Tricks,  Home  Amusements,  by  Frank  Bellew... 
Love  [L1  Amour]  —  English  Translation  from  Michelet's  famous  French  work... 
Woman  [La  Femme]— The  Sequ-1  to  "L'Amour"  Do.  Do. 

Verdant  Green — A  racy  English  college  story.    With  200  comic  illustrations .... 

Clear  Light  from  the  Spirit  World — By  Kate  Irving 

Bottom  Facts  Concerning  Spiritualism — By  John  W.  Truesdell 

Why  Wife  and  I  Quarreled — Poem  by  the  author  of  "  Betsey  and  I  are  Out" 
A  Northern  Governess  at  the  Sunny  South — By  Professor  J.  H.  Ingraham. 

Birds  of  a  Feather  Flock  Together— By  Edward  A.  Sothern,  the  actor 

Yachtman's  Primer — Correct  Instructions  for  Amateur  Sailors.     By  Warren., 

Longfellow's  Home  Life — By  Blanche  Rooseveit  Machetta.     Illustrated 

Redbird's  Christmas  Story — An  Illustrated  Juvenile.    By  Mary  J.  Holmes. . . 

Every-Day  Home  Advice — For  Household  and  Domestic  Economy 

Ladies'  and  Gentlemen's  Etiquette  Book  of  the  best  Fashionable  Society.. 
Love  and  Marriage — A  book  for  unmarried  people.  By  Frederick  Saunders. . 

Under  the  Rose — A  Capital  book,  by  the  author  of  "  East  Lynne." 

So  Dear  a  Dream — A  novel  by  Mrss  Grant,  author  of  "The  Sun  Maid." 

Give  me  thine  Heart— A  capital  new  domestic  Love  Story  by  Roe 

Meeting  Her  Fate — A  charming  novel  by  the  author  of  "Aurora  Floyd." 

Faithful  to  the  End — A  delightful  domestic  novel  by  Roe. ..- 

So  True  a  Love— A  novel  by  Miss  Grant,  author  of  "The  Sun  Maid."  


